hifters as with the authors, and talked broken French while they
adjusted all kinds of frightful rags upon their charming visages. Their
smile was the calm smile of perfect innocence or of complete corruption.

AT THE ACADEMY.

Session of November 23, 1843.

CHARLES NODIER.--The Academy, yielding to custom, has suppressed
universally the double consonant in verbs where this consonant
supplanted euphoniously the _d_ of the radical _ad_.

MYSELF.--I avow my profound ignorance. I had no idea that custom had
effected this suppression and that the Academy had sanctioned it. Thus
one should no longer write _atteindre, approuver, appeler, apprehender_,
etc., but _ateindre, aprouver, apeler, aprehender_?

M. VICTOR COUSIN.--I desire to point out to M. Hugo that the alterations
of which he complains come from the movement of the language, which is
nothing else than decadence.

MYSELF.--M. Cousin having addressed a personal observation to me, I
beg to point out to him in turn that his opinion is, in my estimation,
merely an opinion and nothing more. I may add that, as I view it,
"movement of the language" and decadence have nothing in common. Nothing
could be more distinct than these two things. Movement in no way proves
decadence. The language has been moving since the first day of its
formation; can it be said to be deteriorating? Movement is life;
decadence is death.

M. COUSIN.--The decadence of the French language began in 1789.

MYSELF.--At what hour, if you please?

October 8, 1844.

This is what was told to me at to-day's session:

Salvandy recently dined with Villemain. The repast over, they
adjourned to the drawing-room, and conversed. As the clock struck eight
Villemain's three little daughters entered to kiss their father good
night. The youngest is named Lucette; her birth cost her mother her
reason; she is a sweet and charming child of five years.

"Well, Lucette, dear child," said her father, "won't you recite one of
Lafontaine's fables before you go to bed?"

"Here," observed M. de Salvandy, "is a little person who to-day recites
fables and who one of these days will inspire romances."

Lucette did not understand. She merely gazed with her big wondering
eyes at Salvandy who was lolling in his chair with an air of benevolent
condescension.

"Well, Lucette." he went on, "will you not recite a fable for us?"

The child required no urging, and began in her naive little voice,