Balzac had left the Rue des Batailles for Les Jardies; he then went to live at Passy. The house in which he lived, situated on a steep slope, offered a unique architectural layout. One entered there A little like wine enters bottles It was necessary to descend three floors to reach the first. The entry door, which was on the side of the house that faced the road, opened nearly into the roof, like a mansard. I dined there once with L. G. It was a strange dinner, with its dishes based on economical recipes invented by Balzac. At my express request, the famous onion purée, endowed with so many healthy and symbolic qualities and which almost killed Lassailly, did not appear. But the wines were marvelous! Each bottle had a story, and Balzac told it with an eloquence, a verve, a conviction without equal. The wine of Bordeaux had gone around the world three times; the Châteauneuf-du-Pape traced back to legendary times; the rum came from a barrel rolled for more than a century by the sea, which had to be opened with blows from an axe, because the crust that had been formed around it by shellfish, coral and seaweed was thick. My palate, surprised, irritated by the acidic flavors, protested in vain against these illustrious origins. Balzac maintained the solemnity of a soothsayer, and despite the proverb, I kept my eyes fixed on him, but I did not make him laugh! For dessert, we had pears of a ripeness, a size, a tenderness and a quality that would do honor to a royal table. Balzac devoured five or six of them with the juice running down his chin; he believed that this fruit was good for him, and he ate them in such a quantity as much for health as for sweetness. Already he felt the first effects of the illness that would take him. Death, with its skeletal fingers, was touching this robust body to know where to attack it, and finding no weakness there, killed it through excess and hypertrophy. The cheeks of Balzac were already lined and marked with those red spots that simulate health to inattentive eyes; but for the observer, the yellow tones of hepatitis surrounded the tired eyelids with their golden halo; the expression, brightened by this warm sepia hue, appeared even more vivacious and shining and lessened anxieties.