"Ah! I understand, then, why you parade your skull. But if you propose always to show us the truth, that may carry you rather far! That goddess's costume is a little scanty, or rather she has none at all. She appears to the world quite naked! I would like to see you go out in the street in that condition, for love of the truth. I fancy that a police officer wouldn't listen to that excuse. Look you, monsieur, it has often been said that it isn't always well to tell the truth; we might add that it isn't always well to see it. In general, a man is wise to conceal his infirmities, his deformities, and whatever he may have that is unpleasant to look at; he does well to make himself as attractive, or as little unattractive, as possible. To embellish, to seek to please, such seems to be the purpose of nature, everywhere and in everything. Look at a mother with her child: her first care is to dress it up, to try to embellish it. Women are born with the instinct of coquetry; men have it, too, although the rush and hurry of business compels them to pay less heed to their persons. When you take lodgings, your first care is to make them attractive; if you have a garden, you embellish it by planting flowers in it; if you give a dinner party, you want it to be stylish, sumptuous, enriched by handsome plate.--For instance, see this thin glass from which I am drinking my claret: it improves the wine, monsieur; it makes it taste better--for the wine would seem much less delicious to me if it were served in a preserve-jar. And take your own case--would you have liked it if they had brought you your grog in a wash-basin, eh?--Deuce take me! I believe the little fellow isn't listening!" exclaimed Cherami, suddenly interrupting his dissertation. "Where in the world have I seen that face?--Waiter! my coffee!" As he threw himself back on the bench, Cherami knocked his cane against his neighbor. Whereupon the latter turned, and pushed the cane away, muttering: "Have you made a wager to annoy me?" "What's that! a wager--just because my cane slipped against you? I say, my dear monsieur, who are so attached to the truth, you're very touchy, aren't you?" The bald man made no reply; as he pushed the cane away, he had glanced at it, and from that moment he kept his eyes fixed upon it. "Ah! you are admiring my cane now?" said Arthur; "you begin to understand that it would have been a pity to break it!--It's very neat." Still the bald man made no reply, but raised his eyes and examined the hat which its owner had hung on a hook. He scrutinized it so carefully that Cherami lost patience, and said to himself: "Well, well! what's the matter with this creature! How much longer is he going to stare at my hat and cane? He's beginning to make me very weary." XXVII THE CANE AND THE HAT At last, the little man made up his mind to speak: "That cane, monsieur--with that agate head; it's very singular!"