"Anger," whispered the doctor to the canon, advancing to meet the old corsair, who, notwithstanding his great age, was still hale and vigorous. "Long live the railroads! for I come this instant from Havre, my old comrade, to assist at the anniversary of your birthday," said Yvon, cordially grasping the doctor's hands, "and to come here I have left Sabine, Sabinon, and Sabinette,--names that the old centenarian, Segoffin, my head artilleryman, has given to my granddaughter and great-granddaughter, for I am a great-grandfather, you know." "Zounds! old comrade, and I hope you will not stop at that!" "And so my son-in-law, Onésime, whom you ushered into life thirty years ago, charged me to remember him to you. And here I am!" "Could you fail to be at our annual reunions, Yvon, my brave comrade, I should have one of those magnificent attacks of anger which used to possess you." Then turning to the canon and the abbé, the doctor presented Yvon, saying: "This is Captain Cloarek, one of our oldest and most illustrious corsairs, the famous hero of the brig _Hellhound_, which played wonderful tricks at the end of the Empire." "Ah, captain," said the canon, "in 1812 I was at Gibraltar, and I had the honour of often hearing you and your ship cursed by the English." "And do you know, my dear canon, to what admirable sin Captain Cloarek owes his glory, and the services he rendered to France in the victorious cruises he made against the English? I am going to tell you, and my old friend will not contradict me. Glory, success, riches,--he owes all to anger." "To anger?" exclaimed the abbé. "To anger!" said the canon. "The truth is, gentlemen," modestly answered Cloarek, "that the little I have done for my country I owe to my naturally tremendous anger." "M. and Madame Michel," announced the valet. "Indolence," said the doctor to the canon and the abbé, approaching Florence and her husband,--Michel having married Madame de Lucenay after the death of M. de Lucenay, victim of a balloon ascension he had attempted from Mount Chimborazo, in company with Valentine. "Ah, madame," said Doctor Gasterini, gallantly kissing the hand of Florence, "how well I know your good-will when you tear yourself away from your self-indulgent, sweet habits of idleness, to give me the pleasure of having you at my house before your departure for your beautiful retreat in Provence." "Why, my good doctor," replied the young woman, smiling, "do you forget that indolent people are capable of everything?" "Even of making the incredible effort of coming to dine with one of their best friends," added Michel, grasping the doctor's hand.