"You astonish me! Why, everybody knows him. Don't you know the Fumeau biscuit? The young fellow who had a judicial adviser appointed for him two months ago? Don't you remember?" "Not at all, I swear to you, Monsieur Xavier." "Never mind, little turkey. Well, I played a good one on Fumeau last year,--a very good one. Guess what? You do not guess?" "How do you expect me to guess, since I do not know him?" "Well, it was this, my little baby. I introduced Fumeau to my mother. Upon my word! What do you think of that for a discovery? And the funniest part of it is that in two months mamma succeeded in blackmailing Fumeau to the tune of three hundred thousand bones. What a godsend that, for papa's works! Oh! they know a thing or two; they are up to snuff! But for that, the house would have gone up. We were over head and ears in debt. The priests themselves were refusing to have anything to do with us. What do you say to that, eh?" "I say, Monsieur Xavier, that you have a queer way of treating the family." "What do you expect, my dear? I am an Anarchist, I am. I have supped on the family." That morning Madame was even nicer than usual with me. "I am well satisfied with your service," she said to me. "Mary, I raise your wages ten francs." "If she raises me ten francs every time," thought I to myself, "that will not be bad. It is more suitable." Oh! when I think of all that! I, too, have supped on it. M. Xavier's fancy did not last long; he had quickly "supped on me." Not for a moment, moreover, was I able to keep him in the house. Several times, on entering his room in the morning, I found the bed undisturbed and empty. M. Xavier had been out all night. The cook knew him well, and she had told the truth when she said: "He prefers to roam elsewhere." He pursued his old habits, and went in search of his customary pleasures, as before. On those mornings I felt a sudden pain in my heart, and all day long I was sad, sad! The unfortunate part of it all is that M. Xavier had no feeling. He was not poetical, like M. Georges. He did not vouchsafe me the slightest attention. Never did he say to me a kind and touching word, as lovers do in books and plays. Moreover, he liked nothing that I liked; he did not like flowers, with the exception of the big carnations with which he adorned the buttonhole of his coat. Yet it is so good to whisper to each other things that caress the heart, to exchange disinterested kisses, to gaze for eternities into one another's eyes. But men are such coarse creatures; they do not feel these joys,--these joys so pure and blue. And it is a great pity. M. Xavier knew nothing but vice, found pleasure only in debauchery. In love all that was not vice and debauchery bored him. "Oh! no, you know, that makes me very tired. I have supped on poetry. The little blue flower ... we must leave that to papa."