uch in
the background and himself too much in front. Dumas had never much
difficulty in meeting such accusations, but Sophie had unconsciously hit
upon the tactics of the clever solicitor who recommended the barrister
to abuse the plaintiff, the defendant's case being bad, and she put it
into practice. "C'est avec sa carpe comme avec ses romans, les autres
les font et il y met son nom," she said one day. "Je l'ai bien vu, c'est
un grand diable de vaniteux."

Now, there was no doubt about it, to those who did not know him very
well, Dumas was "un grand diable de vaniteux;" and the worthy doctor sat
pondering his cook's remarks until he himself felt inclined to think
that Dumas had a clever chef in the background, upon whose victories he
plumed himself. Meanwhile Dumas had been out of town for more than a
month, but a day or so after his return he made his appearance at the
Cafe de Paris, and, as a matter of course, inquired after the result of
Sophie's efforts. The doctor was reticent at first, not caring to
acknowledge Sophie's failure. He had, however, made the matter public,
alleging, at the same time, Sophie's suspicions as to Dumas' hidden
collaborateur, and one of the company was ill advised enough to let the
cat out of the bag. During the many years of my acquaintance with Dumas,
I have never seen him in such a rage as then. But he toned down in a
very few minutes. "Il n'y a qu'une reponse a une accusation pareille,"
he said in a grandiloquent tone, which, however, had the most comical
effect, seeing how trifling the matter was in reality--"il n'y qu'une
reponse; vous viendrez diner avec moi demain, vous choissirez un delegue
qui viendra a partir de trois heures me voir preparer mon diner." I was
the youngest, the choice fell upon me. That is how my lifelong
friendship with Dumas began. At three o'clock next day I was at the
Chaussee d'Antin, and was taken by the servant into the kitchen, where
the great novelist stood surrounded by his utensils, some of silver, and
all of them glistening like silver. With the exception of a soupe aux
choux, at which, by his own confession, he had been at work since the
morning, all the ingredients for the dinner were in their natural
state--of course, washed and peeled, but nothing more. He was assisted
by his own cook and a kitchen-maid, but he himself, with his sleeves
rolled up to the elbows, a large apron round his waist, and bare chest,
conducted the operations. I do not thi