“_Only_ think--hiccup!--of a _fricasséed_ shadow!” exclaimed our hero, whose faculties were becoming much illuminated by the profundity of His Majesty’s discourse. “Only think of a--hiccup!--_fricasséed_ shadow!! Now, damme!--hiccup!--humph! If _I_ would have been such a--hiccup!--nincompoop! _My_ soul, Mr.--humph!” “_Your_ soul, Monsieur Bon-Bon?” “Yes, sir--hiccup!--_my_ soul is--” “What, sir?” “_No_ shadow, damme!” “Did you mean to say--” “Yes, sir, _my_ soul is--hiccup!--humph!--yes, sir.” “Did you not intend to assert--” “_My_ soul is--hiccup!--peculiarly qualified for--hiccup!--a--” “What, sir?” “Stew.” “Ha!” “_Soufflée._” “Eh!” “_Fricassée._” “Indeed!” “_Ragoût_ and _fricandeau_--and see here, my good fellow! I’ll let you have it--hiccup!--a bargain.” Here the philosopher slapped His Majesty upon the back. “Couldn’t think of such a thing,” said the latter calmly, at the same time rising from his seat. The metaphysician stared. “Am supplied at present,” said His Majesty. “Hic-cup!--e-h?” said the philosopher. “Have no funds on hand.” “What?” “Besides, very unhandsome in me--” “Sir!” “To take advantage of--” “Hic-cup!” “Your present disgusting and ungentlemanly situation.” Here the visitor bowed and withdrew--in what manner could not precisely be ascertained--but in a well-concerted effort to discharge a bottle at “the villain,” the slender chain was severed that depended from the ceiling, and the metaphysician prostrated by the downfall of the lamp. THE PRINTER’S DEVIL