losophy of Diderot and D'Alembert; a Guernsey man who had seen the
great Revolution; a learned ignoramus, free from bigotry, but indulging
in visions, with more faith in the White Lady than in the Holy Virgin;
possessing the strength of Polyphemus, the perseverance of Columbus,
with a little of the bull in his nature, and a little of the child. Add
to these physical and mental peculiarities a somewhat flat nose, large
cheeks, a set of teeth still perfect, a face filled with wrinkles, and
which seemed to have been buffeted by the waves and subjected to the
beating of the winds of forty years, a brow in which the storm and
tempest were plainly written--an incarnation of a rock in the open sea.
Add to this, too, a good-tempered smile always ready to light up his
weather-beaten countenance, and you have before you Mess Lethierry.

Mess Lethierry had two special objects of affection only. Their names
were Durande and Deruchette.

BOOK III

DURANDE AND DERUCHETTE

I

PRATTLE AND SMOKE

The human body might well be regarded as a mere simulacrum; but it
envelopes our reality, it darkens our light, and broadens the shadow in
which we live. The soul is the reality of our existence. Strictly
speaking, the human visage is a mask. The true man is that which exists
under what is called man. If that being, which thus exists sheltered and
secreted behind that illusion which we call the flesh, could be
approached, more than one strange revelation would be made. The vulgar
error is to mistake the outward husk for the living spirit. Yonder
maiden, for example, if we could see her as she really is, might she not
figure as some bird of the air?

A bird transmuted into a young maiden, what could be more exquisite?
Picture it in your own home, and call it Deruchette. Delicious creature!
One might be almost tempted to say, "Good-morning, Mademoiselle
Goldfinch." The wings are invisible, but the chirping may still be
heard. Sometimes, too, she pipes a clear, loud song. In her childlike
prattle, the creature is, perhaps, inferior; but in her song, how
superior to humanity! When womanhood dawns, this angel flies away; but
sometimes returns, bringing back a little one to a mother. Meanwhile,
she who is one day to be a mother is for a long while a child; the girl
becomes a maiden, fresh and joyous as the lark. Noting her movements, we
feel as if it was good of her not to fly away. The dear familiar
companion moves at her own