“Precisely,” replied the surgeon. “How amusing!” cried Madame de Genlis. “I was somewhat surprised,” went on the speaker, without noticing the interruption, and sticking his hands into the gussets of his breeches, “to hear something talking to me within that leg. I then found I had the singular faculty of entering the being of my patient. Once within his skin I saw a marvellous number of little creatures which moved, and thought, and reasoned. Some of them lived in the body of the man, others lived in his mind. His ideas were things which were born, and grew, and died; they were sick and well, and gay, and sad; they all had special countenances; they fought with each other, or they embraced each other. Some ideas sprang forth and went to live in the world of intellect. I began to see that there were two worlds, two universes,--the visible universe, and the invisible universe; that the earth had, like man, a body and a soul. Nature illumined herself for me; I felt her immensity when I saw the oceans of beings who, in masses and in species, spread everywhere, making one sole and uniform animated Matter, from the stone of the earth to God. Magnificent vision! In short, I found a universe within my patient. When I inserted my knife into his gangrened leg I cut into a million of those little beings. Oh! you laugh, madame; let me tell you that you are eaten up by such creatures--” “No personalities!” interposed Monsieur de Calonne. “Speak for yourself and for your patient.” “My patient, frightened by the cries of his animalcules, wanted to stop the operation; but I went on regardless of his remonstrances; telling him that those evil animals were already gnawing at his bones. He made a sudden movement of resistance, not understanding that what I did was for his good, and my knife slipped aside, entered my own body, and--” “He is stupid,” said Lavoisier. “No, he is drunk,” replied Beaumarchais. “But, gentlemen, my dream has a meaning,” cried the surgeon. “Oh! oh!” exclaimed Bodard, waking up; “my leg is asleep!” “Your animalcules must be dead,” said his wife. “That man has a vocation,” announced my little neighbor, who had stared imperturbably at the surgeon while he was speaking. “It is to yours,” said the ugly man, “what the action is to the word, the body to the soul.” But his tongue grew thick, his words were indistinct, and he said no more. Fortunately for us the conversation took another turn. At the end of half an hour we had forgotten the surgeon of the king’s pages, who was fast asleep. Rain was falling in torrents as we left the supper-table. “The lawyer is no fool,” I said to Beaumarchais. “True, but he is cold and dull. You see, however, that the provinces are still sending us worthy men who take a serious view of political theories and the history of France. It is a leaven which will rise.” “Is your carriage here?” asked Madame de Saint-James, addressing me.