“Alas!” I said to him, “if you want to make me remember the rules of bezique, give me back my old friend Bignan, with whom I used to play cards every evening before the Five Academies solemnly escorted him to the cemetery; or else bring down to the frivolous level of human amusements the grave intelligence of Hamilcar, whom you see on that cushion, for he is the sole companion of my evenings.” The little man’s smile became vague and uneasy. “Here,” he said, “is a new collection of society amusements--jokes and puns--with a receipt for changing a red rose to a white rose.” I told him that I had fallen out with the roses for a long time, and that, as to jokes, I was satisfied with those which I unconsciously permitted myself to make in the course of my scientific labours. The homunculus offered me his last book, with his last smile. He said to me: “Here is the Clef des Songes--the ‘Key of Dreams’--with the explanation of any dreams that anybody can have; dreams of gold, dreams of robbers, dreams of death, dreams of falling from the top of a tower.... It is exhaustive.” I had taken hold of the tongs, and, brandishing them energetically, I replied to my commercial visitor: “Yes, my friend; but those dreams and a thousand others, joyous or tragic, are all summed up in one--the Dream of Life; is your little yellow book able to give me the key to that?” “Yes, Monsieur,” answered the homunculus; “the book is complete, and it is not dear--one franc twenty-five centimes, Monsieur.” I called my housekeeper--for there is no bell in my room--and said to her: “Therese, Monsieur Coccoz--whom I am going to ask you to show out--has a book here which might interest you: the ‘Key of Dreams.’ I shall be very glad to buy it for you.” My housekeeper responded: “Monsieur, when one has not even time to dream awake, one has still less time to dream asleep. Thank God, my days are just enough for my work and my work for my days, and I am able to say every night, ‘Lord, bless Thou the rest which I am going to take.’ I never dream, either on my feet or in bed; and I never mistake my eider-down coverlet for a devil, as my cousin did; and, if you will allow me to give my opinion about it, I think you have books enough here now. Monsieur has thousands and thousands of books, which simply turn his head; and as for me, I have just tow, which are quite enough for all my wants and purposes--my Catholic prayer-book and my Cuisiniere Bourgeoise.” And with those words my housekeeper helped the little man to fasten up his stock again within the green toilette.