ugeot is a little heady, you know--a
little strong--you understand, eh?"

"To be sure," said I,--"to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I
understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the
celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"

"By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close; but the
treatment--the medical treatment, I mean--is rather agreeable to the
patients than otherwise."

"And the new system is one of your own invention?"

"Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr, of
whom you have, necessarily, heard; and, again, there are modifications
in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belonging of right to the
celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you have the honor of an
intimate acquaintance."

"I am quite ashamed to confess," I replied, "that I have never even
heard the names of either gentleman before."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly,
and uplifting his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did not
intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor
Tarr, or of the celebrated Professor Fether?"

"I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance," I replied; "but the truth
should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel humbled
to the dust, not to be acquainted with the works of these, no doubt,
extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith, and peruse
them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have really--I must
confess it--you have really--made me ashamed of myself!"

And this was the fact.

"Say no more, my good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my
hand,--"join me now in a glass of Sauterne."

We drank. The company followed our example without stint. They
chatted--they jested--they laughed--they perpetrated a thousand
absurdities--the fiddles shrieked--the drum row-de-dowed--the trombones
bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris--and the whole scene,
growing gradually worse and worse, as the wines gained the ascendancy,
became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In the meantime,
Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauterne and Vougeot
between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A word
spoken in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the
voice of a fish from the bottom of Niagara Falls.

"And, sir," said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned somethi