One day, when M. Lecamus had decided that Théophraste had spent too much time at the butcher’s shop, he came up to him, as if by chance, and found him, with the butcher, decorating all the fresh meat with curl papers. This was innocent enough. Thus judged M. Eliphaste, although he wrote in the margin of the report: “He may look at the meat in the butcher’s shop. It is good to let him see blood sometimes. It is the end of the crisis, and can do no harm.” This butchery was a small one, and had its specialty. M. Houdry sold among other ordinary meats a special quality of veal. The secret of this quality lay in the way it was killed. The majority of Paris butchers obtain their meat from the abattoirs, but M. Houdry always bought his alive, and killed it himself, in his own way. He was not satisfied to knock the calf in the head, as they did at the abattoirs. He bled it after the Jewish manner, with a large knife which he called the bleeder, and so dexterous had he become in this art that he never had to cut the same wound twice. He had gained some reputation as a good butcher. M. Houdry had explained the case about his veal to M. Longuet, with the greatest mystery, and he had evidently taken great pleasure in it— so much so that Théophraste, after having listened to the theory, had shown the desire to assist at a practical lesson. In a small court adjacent to the store, M. Houdry had a secret abattoir. On a certain morning, Théophraste, who happened there at a much earlier hour than was his custom, found his man at the abattoir with a calf. The butcher begged him to come in, and to close the doors behind him. “I shut myself up every day thus with a live calf,” said M. Houdry, “and when the doors of the abattoir are opened again, the calf is dead. I lose no time; I have operated in twenty-five minutes.” Théophraste congratulated him. He asked him many questions, interesting himself in all the objects which struck his attention. The bellows with its large arms drew his attention. He also saw a windlass. He learned that that strong oak cross-bar, with pegs in it, supported the windlass and the bucket. He admired the solid oak hand-barrow also. A chopper which was drawn up was called a “leaf.” But that which interested him more was a set of tools hung on the walls in the shop. In this “shop,” which was sort of saddle-bags for cutlass, he saw first of all the bleeder, and was pleased to pass his finger over the long, strong and sharpened edge. Then there was a much smaller knife, called the “Moutoniner,” used ordinarily to cut up mutton, as the name indicates, but which was used there to cut certain parts of veal. Then some other small knives, among which was the canut, used in “flowering” the veal. “Flowering” the veal consists in making light, artistic designs on the shin of the veal, as soon as it is bleached.