The proposition of Doctor Gasterini, unanimously welcomed, was carried out with perfect grace and uninterrupted joyousness. Henri David, who was the last but one to speak, interested the guests keenly in recounting the prodigies of devotion and generosity that Envy had inspired in Frederick Bastien, and even tears flowed at the account of the death of that noble child and that of his angelic mother. Happily the recital of Luxury concluded the dinner, and the lively marquise made the whole company laugh, when speaking of her adventure with the archduke, whose passion she did not share. She said that it was easier to induce the Pope's legate to masquerade as a Hungarian hussar than to make an Austrian archduke comprehend that man was born for liberty. Moreover, the marquise announced that she contrived a plan of campaign against the old Radetzki, and finally engaged in transforming him into a coal merchant, and making him one of the chief instruments in the liberation of Italy. "But this snow, dear and beautiful marquise," said the doctor to her, in a low voice, after this recital, "this armour of ice, which renders you apparently disdainful to those whom you inflame, is it never melted by so many fires?" "No, no, my good doctor," replied the marquise, softly, with a melancholy smile; "the memory of my blond archangel, my ideal and only love, keeps the depths of my heart pure and fresh, like a flower under the snow." "And I had remorse!" cried the canon, in a transport of delight over his easy digestion. "I was miscreant enough to feel remorse for the indulgence of my appetite." "Instead of remorse, an excellent dinner gives, on the contrary, even to the most selfish hearts, a singular inclination to charity," replied the doctor, "and if I did not fear I should be anathematised by our critical and dear Abbé Ledoux, I would add that, from the point of view of charity,--from that standpoint, gluttony would have the happiest results." "Go on," replied the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, as he sipped a little glass of exquisite cream, flavoured with cinnamon of Madame Amphoux, 1788. "You have already uttered so many absurdities, dear doctor, that one more or less--" "It depends not on chimeras, utopian schemes, but upon facts, palpable, practical, to-day and to-morrow," interrupted the doctor, "facts which can pour every day considerable sums in the coffers of the benevolent enterprises of Paris! Is that an absurdity?" "Speak, dear doctor," said the guests, unanimously; "speak! We are all listening to you."