This was entirely contrary to their habits and customs. Henri Monnier made quite certain that he was not labouring under any misapprehension; then, when he was sure he was right, he shouted from one end of the table to the other, "Look here, my dear Romieu, why ever do you address me as _you_ while I use the familiar _thou_? The company here will take you for my valet." Paris really missed Romieu when he left it, although it still possessed Rousseau; as the authorities were bent on making Romieu a prefect, Paris would have liked him to be prefect of Paris, but apparently that was not possible. How could Romieu have left Rousseau behind him in Paris? Ah! Rousseau never forgave him for doing that! He wrote a very pretty song about it, which I will give my readers, if I can find it. When Romieu was appointed sub-prefect, Rousseau jumped for joy; it would, he argued, be a grave omission on the part of the Government to make Romieu a sub-prefect without giving Rousseau some title or other; and as Rousseau had not asked for even a sub-prefecture after the Revolution, it was but reasonable to refrain from blaming the Government, and, less proud than Cæsar, he was quite willing to play second fiddle. He went in search of Romieu. "Well done, my dear friend, I congratulate you." "Oh! you have heard?" "The deuce I have!" "Yes, they have made me a sub-prefect." "Well?" "Well, what?" "I hope you are thinking of me." "Thinking of you? In what way?" "You will require a secretary, I should think." "Yes, so I shall." "You have not got one yet?" "No." "Very well, that is my berth, then. Twelve hundred francs, board, lodging and your society. I could ask for nothing better." "Indeed?" said Romieu. "Come, now!" "Return the day after to-morrow, and I will tell you if the thing be possible." "Possible! What the devil should prevent it ...?" Rousseau took his departure, and returned two days later. He found Romieu looking very serious, even anxious. "Well?" he asked. "Well, my dear friend, I am in despair." "Why?" "Impossible!" "Impossible to take me with you?" "Yes ... you see...." "No, I don't see." "Before I could take you with me I had to make some inquiries." "About me?" "Yes, about you, and I learnt...." "You learnt ...?" "I learnt that you drank." Rousseau left; but this time he did not return again. Poor Rousseau! Three months before his death, he related this story to my son and me, with tears in his eyes. "Romieu will come to a bad end," he said in tones as tragic as those of Calchas; "he is an ungrateful being." May Heaven preserve Romieu from Rousseau's prediction! Romieu stayed in the provinces for three years without coming back to Paris, and during those three years his absence led to great changes in the capital, as the following distich by an unknown author appears to state:-- "Lorsque Romieu revint du Monomotapa Paris ne soupait plus, et Paris ressoupa."