of the barracks in the Rue
de Poitiers, and the tall plane trees of the Padovani mansion, with the
rooks' nests, abandoned till the winter, swinging in their top branches.
Below was the deserted court in full sunlight, with the little garden
and tiny house of the bookbinder.

'Just look, old boy, there's a good lot of it here,' said Vedrine to his
friend, pointing to the wild exuberant vegetation of every species which
ran riot over the whole building. 'If Crocodilus saw all these weeds,
what a rage he would be in!' Suddenly he started, and said, 'Well, I
never!'

At this moment, near the bookbinder's house below, came into sight
Astier-Rehu, recognisable by his long frock-coat of a metallic green and
his large wide 'topper.' Most people in the neighbourhood knew this hat,
which, set on the back of a grey curly head, distinguished, like a halo,
the hierarch of erudition. It was Crocodilus himself!

He was talking earnestly to a man of very small stature, whose bare head
shone with hair-oil, and whose tight-fitting, light-coloured coat showed
in all its elegance the deformity of his back. Their words were not
audible, but Astier seemed much excited. He brandished his stick and
bent himself forward over the face of the little creature, who for his
part was perfectly calm, and stood, as if his mind was made up, with his
two large hands behind him folded under his hump.

'The cripple does work for the Institute, does he?' said Freydet, who
remembered now that his master had uttered the name of Fage. Vedrine
did not answer. He was watching the action of the two men, whose
conversation at this moment suddenly stopped, the humpback going into
his house with a gesture which seemed to say, 'As you please,' while
Astier with angry strides made for the gate of the building towards the
Rue de Lille, then paused, turned back to the shop, went in, and closed
the door behind him.

'It's odd,' muttered the sculptor. 'Why did Fage never tell me? What a
mysterious little fellow it is! But I dare say they have the same taste
for the "octavo" and the "duodecimo"!'

'For shame, Vedrine!'

The visit done, Freydet went slowly up the Quai d'Orsay, thinking about
his book and his aspirations towards the Academie, which had received a
severe shock from the home truths he had been hearing. How like the man
is to the boy! How soon the character is in its essence complete! After
an interval of twenty-five years, beneath the wrinkles and gr