“No. I was satisfied with looking at it from my window. And then,” continued the traveller, with a tone of contempt, most humiliating to the volcano, “Vesuvius is not the most curious thing that is to be seen at Naples. A mountain that smokes? my chimney does as much, when the wind is in the wrong quarter,--and besides Madame La Jarry was dreadfully alarmed at the idea of an eruption.” “But of course you visited the _Grotto del Cane?_” continued Lectoure. “To what purpose?” rejoined La Jarry; “to see an animal that has vapors--give a pill to the first poodle that passes, and he will do as much. And then, Madame La Jarry has quite a passion for dogs, and it would have given her pain to witness so cruel an exhibition.” “I hope, however, that a man of science, like yourself,” said Emanuel, bowing, “did not neglect the Solfatara.” “Who, I--I would not set my foot there. I can very easily imagine what three or four acres of sulphur looks like, the sole produce of which is a few millions of matches. Moreover, Madame La Jarry cannot support the odour of sulphur.” “What do you think of our new friend?” said Emanuel, leading Lectoure into the room in which the contract was to be signed. “I know not whether it is because I saw the other first, but I decidedly prefer Nozay.” The door again opened, and the servant loudly announced, “Monsieur Paul.” “Eh!” exclaimed Emanuel, turning round. “Who is this?” inquired Lectoure, listlessly, “another country neighbour?” “No; this is quite another sort of person,” replied Emanuel, with agitation. “How does this man dare to present himself here?” “Ah! ah! a plebeian--eh? a common fellow, is he not? but rich, I suppose. No--a poet? musician? painter? well, I can assure you, Emanuel, that they are beginning to receive this sort of people--that accursed philosophy has confounded every thing. It cannot be helped, my dear fellow, we must courageously make up our minds to it--we have come to that. An artist sits down by a great noble, elbows him, touches the corner of his hat to him, remains seated when the other rises--they converse together on court matters--they jest, they joke, they squabble, it is _bon ton_ though decidedly bad taste.” “You are mistaken, Lectoure,” replied Emanuel; “he is neither poet, painter, or musician: he is a man to whom I must speak alone. Just lead off Nozay, while I do the same with La Jarry.”