ently, and was, besides, a humorous, agile-minded fellow, with whom
the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of comprehension. Many were
the glasses they emptied, many the topics they discussed.

"Anastasie," the Doctor said on the third morning, "take an example from
your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more for the boy
than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with positive gusto. As
for me, you behold me. I have made friends with the Egyptians; and my
Pharaoh is, I swear it, a most agreeable companion. You alone are hipped.
About a house--a few dresses? What are they in comparison to the
'Pharmacopoeia'--the labour of years lying buried below stones and
sticks in this depressing hamlet? The snow falls; I shake it from my
cloak! Imitate me. Our income will be impaired, I grant it, since we must
rebuild; but moderation, patience, and philosophy will gather about the
hearth. In the meanwhile, the Tentaillons are obliging; the table, with
your additions, will pass; only the wine is execrable--well, I shall send
for some to-day. My Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent glass;
aha! and I shall see if he possesses that acme of organisation--a palate.
If he has a palate, he is perfect."

"Henri," she said, shaking her head, "you are a man; you cannot
understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so public
a humiliation."

The Doctor could not restrain a titter. "Pardon me, darling," he said;
"but really, to the philosophical intelligence, the incident appears so
small a trifle. You looked extremely well----"

"Henri!" she cried.

"Well, well, I will say no more," he replied. "Though, to be sure, if you
had consented to indue----_A propos_," he broke off, "and my trousers!
They are lying in the snow--my favourite trousers!" And he dashed in
quest of Jean-Marie.

Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one
arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other.

The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. "They have been!" he said.
"Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay,
something in the pocket," and he produced a piece of paper. "A letter! ay,
now I mind me; it was received on the morning of the gale, when I was
absorbed in delicate investigations. It is still legible. From poor dear
Casimir! It is as well," he chuckled, "that I have educated him to
patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence--his infinitesimal,
timorou