th. What a man he had been! In
truth he belonged to a period that would accept nothing less from
Nature than physical beauty; and Nature is ever subservient to the
period. If it is to-day all small men, and to-morrow gnomes and
dwarfs, we may know that the period is demanding them from Nature.

When the General had completed--let it be called no less than the
ceremony of--his toilet, he took his chocolate and his _pain de
Paris_. Honorine could not imagine him breakfasting on anything but
_pain de Paris._ Then he sat himself in his large arm-chair before his
escritoire, and began transacting his affairs with the usual--

"But where is that idiot, that dolt, that sluggard, that snail, with
my mail?" Honorine, busy in the breakfast-room:

[Illustration: "WHERE IS THAT IDIOT, THAT DOLT, THAT SLUGGARD, THAT
SNAIL, WITH MY MAIL?"]

"In a moment, husband. In a moment."

"But he should be here now. It is the first of the month, it is nine
o'clock, I am ready; he should be here."

"It is not yet nine o'clock, husband."

"Not yet nine! Not yet nine! Am I not up? Am I not dressed? Have I not
breakfasted before nine?"

"That is so, husband. That is so." Honorine's voice, prompt in
cheerful acquiescence, came from the next room, where she was washing
his cup, saucer, and spoon.

"It is getting worse and worse every day. I tell you, Honorine, Pompey
must be discharged. He is worthless. He is trifling. Discharge him!
Discharge him! Do not have him about! Chase him out of the yard! Chase
him as soon as he makes his appearance! Do you hear, Honorine?"

"You must have a little patience, husband."

It was perhaps the only reproach one could make to Madame Honorine,
that she never learned by experience.

"Patience! Patience! Patience is the invention of dullards and
sluggards. In a well-regulated world there should be no need of such a
thing as patience. Patience should be punished as a crime, or at
least as a breach of the peace. Wherever patience is found police
investigation should be made as for smallpox. Patience! Patience! I
never heard the word--I assure you, I never heard the word in Paris.
What do you think would be said there to the messenger who craved
patience of you? Oh, they know too well in Paris--a rataplan from the
walking-stick on his back, that would be the answer; and a, 'My good
fellow, we are not hiring professors of patience, but legs.'"

"But, husband, you must remember we do not hire Pompey. He onl