Martinod permitted the others, and especially the neophytes who formed a sort of court around him, and for whose drinks he paid, to start up, exclaim, though without naming the enemy, while he, inattentive or meditative, fixed grandfather with his eyes. As he continued for some time in this attitude, a passage from my natural history recurred to my mind, concerning a serpent that fascinated birds, and I laughed to myself at this absurd idea. For a long time he maintained his fixed gaze; then, after ordering drinks all around, except for me, whom he had forgotten, he leaned forward and in a fawning voice spoke in his neighbour’s ear, but not so softly but that I heard. “So, Father Rambert, you are no longer in your own house?” “How so?” replied grandfather indifferently. “Why, no; that fine château that you live in isn’t yours now.” He pronounced the word _château_ like the farmer, only omitting a few circumflex accents. Grandfather observed it, and it amused him. “Oho! the château,” he said; “why not the palace?” “Call it what you like, for all me,” replied Martinod; “the fact remains that it is the finest residence in the country. And well situated--town and country at once. All the same, ha! ha! They have played you a trick, and you are no longer master of the house.” Grandfather scratched his eyebrow, then pulled his beard. He never spoke to any one of his abdication, not even to me in our walks, and I had perceived that allusions to this old story, several years old now, did not interest him. I knew that he despised property and deemed it detrimental to the general good. But wasn’t that a sacred dogma at the Café of the Navigators, too? “Well, yes,” he replied with a forced laugh. “I am no longer in my own house; there’s a discovery for you! My poor Martinod, you are behind the times! It’s many a long day since I’ve been in my own house and glad I am, as you see. No more bother, no more care. I am no longer the master, but I am my own master.” Upon this the dialogue proceeded, more and more gaily. “Ta, ta, ta! At your age it’s not easy to get used to camping in other folks’ houses.” “At my age one likes peace and quiet.” “Yes, I know. They have relegated you to the end of the table.” “I put myself there of my own accord, and food tastes just as good there as in the middle.” “But here, Father Rambert, you have the place of honour.” “There is no place of honour in a café.” “And your room?--every one knows that you have been hoisted to the garret.” “Every one knows that I love heights.” All of which was said banteringly. They were playing at tossing questions and answers to and fro, as we tossed balls at school. Listening to them, my mind was for a moment distracted from its absorbing sentiment, and I inwardly condemned myself for this as for a fault.