"You will appreciate, Monsieur Ménard," pursued Dubourg, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief, which he had thrust into his waistcoat to give himself the aspect of a foreigner, "you will appreciate that one becomes strongly attached to a carriage which recalls such honorable memories. I know that it is not modern, and that it might be hung better; twenty times, my steward has talked of having it repainted, and of having it newly lined inside, but I always refuse. This seat, which I now occupy, was once occupied by King Stanislas; that in which you sit, by a princess of Hungary; and I confess, Monsieur Ménard, that I am determined not to change this Utrecht velvet, which has had the honor of supporting those eminent persons." "I share your feelings in that respect to the full, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, who, enchanted as he was to travel with two men of distinguished rank, was unable to contain himself when he was told that a princess of Hungary had once sat where he was sitting. "This carriage must be very dear to you; and I assure you, monsieur le baron, that it rides very nicely, and that I find it very comfortable----" At that moment a vicious jolt threw Monsieur Ménard forward, almost into his pupil's lap; but he added, clinging to the door: "_Ubi plura intent in carmine; non ego paucis offendar maculis._" "_Vitam impendere vero_," rejoined Dubourg. Frédéric looked out of the door, coughing harder than ever; while Monsieur Ménard said, with a bow: "I never doubted it, monsieur le baron." "As I am obliged to remain incognito," said Dubourg, "I have not brought any of my suite with me, and I confess that I am not inclined to complain; I detest all the pomp and parade and etiquette which are the accompaniments of high station. When I travel, I lay it all aside; I am the man of nature, and I play the part of a simple observer. But, by the way, my dear Frédéric, I haven't asked you yet where you are going; would it be presumptuous in me to inquire?" "No, indeed, my friend; I am leaving Paris because I found there only coquettish or heartless women, who do not understand my way of loving." "Well, my dear fellow, the trouble is that your way of loving is no longer fashionable! However, this is mere amorous petulance, I see; you are still a little romantic, a little sentimental.--We must cure Frédéric of all such nonsense, eh, Monsieur Ménard?" "That doesn't come within my functions, monsieur le baron; besides, we must overlook a little something; Seneca says, you know: _Non est magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ._" "That is very true," Dubourg replied; "the greatest men have had their weak points. Alexander drank too much; Antiochus dressed as Bacchus to please Cleopatra; Æneas consulted the Cumæan sibyl; the Emperor Maximilian died from eating too much melon. So it's not at all surprising that Frédéric should have a too sensitive heart."