an imaginary body. Begin by dissecting a corpse."

Every one prepared to listen, with all the greater readiness because
they had all talked enough, and this is the moment to be chosen for
telling a story. This, then, is the Consul-General's tale:--

"When I was two-and-twenty, and had taken my degree in law, my old
uncle, the Abbe Loraux, then seventy-two years old, felt it necessary
to provide me with a protector, and to start me in some career. This
excellent man, if not indeed a saint, regarded each year of his life as
a fresh gift from God. I need not tell you that the father confessor of
a Royal Highness had no difficulty in finding a place for a young man
brought up by himself, his sister's only child. So one day, towards the
end of the year 1824, this venerable old man, who for five years had
been Cure of the White Friars at Paris, came up to the room I had in his
house, and said:

"'Get yourself dressed, my dear boy; I am going to introduce you to some
one who is willing to engage you as secretary. If I am not mistaken, he
may fill my place in the event of God's taking me to Himself. I shall
have finished mass at nine o'clock; you have three-quarters of an hour
before you. Be ready.'

"'What, uncle! must I say good-bye to this room, where for four years I
have been so happy?'

"'I have no fortune to leave you,' said he.

"'Have you not the reputation of your name to leave me, the memory of
your good works----?'

"'We need say nothing of that inheritance,' he replied, smiling. 'You do
not yet know enough of the world to be aware that a legacy of that kind
is hardly likely to be paid, whereas by taking you this morning to M. le
Comte'--Allow me," said the Consul, interrupting himself, "to speak
of my protector by his Christian name only, and to call him Comte
Octave.--'By taking you this morning to M. le Comte Octave, I hope to
secure you his patronage, which, if you are so fortunate as to please
that virtuous statesman--as I make no doubt you can--will be worth, at
least, as much as the fortune I might have accumulated for you, if my
brother-in-law's ruin and my sister's death had not fallen on me like a
thunder-bolt from a clear sky.'

"'Are you the Count's director?'

"'If I were, could I place you with him? What priest could be capable
of taking advantage of the secrets which he learns at the tribunal of
repentance? No; you owe this position to his Highness, the Keeper of
the Seals. My dear Maurice