What does he talk about to make him so popular? He tells us what he saw of the coup d’État to which we owe the hated Empire; he talks of the brandy served out and of the firing into the mob. He—so he assures me—always aimed at the wall; and I accept his word for it, so distressed does he appear to me and so ashamed of having taken a hand, however innocent, in that felon’s game. He tells us of his watches in the trenches before Sebastopol; he speaks of his sudden terror when, at night, all alone on outpost duty, squatting in the snow, he saw fall beside him what he calls a flower-pot. It blazed and flared and shone and lit up everything around. The infernal machine threatened to burst at every second; and our man gave himself up for lost. But nothing happened: the flower-pot went out quietly. It was a star-shell, an illuminating contrivance fired to reconnoitre the assailant’s outworks in the dark. The tragedy of the battle-field is followed by the comedy of the barracks. He lets us into the mysteries of the stew-pan, the secrets of the mess, the humorous hardships of the cells. And, as his stock of anecdotes, seasoned with racy expressions, is inexhaustible, the supper-hour arrives before any of us has had time to remark how long the evening is. Favier first attracted my notice by a master-stroke. One of my friends had sent me from Marseilles a pair of enormous Crabs, the Maia, the Sea-spider or Spider-crab of the fishermen. I was unpacking the captives when the workmen returned from their dinner: painters, stone-masons, plasterers engaged in repairing the house which had been empty so long. At the sight of those strange animals, studded with spikes all over the carapace and perched on long legs that give them a certain resemblance to a monstrous Spider, the onlookers gave a cry of surprise, almost of alarm. Favier, for his part, remained unmoved; and, as he skilfully seized the terrible Spider struggling to get away, he said ‘I know that thing; I’ve eaten it at Vasna. It’s first-rate.’ And he looked round at the bystanders with an air of humorous mockery which was meant to convey: ‘You’ve never been out of your hole, you people.’ One more story of him, to have done. A woman living in his neighbourhood had been, by the doctor’s advice, to take the sea-baths at Cette. She returned from her trip bringing with her a curious thing, a strange fruit on which she based high hopes. When held to the ear and shaken, it rattled, proving that it contained seeds. It was round and prickly. At one end was a sort of bud, closed with a little white flower; at the other, a slight cavity was pierced with a few holes. The neighbour ran round to Favier to show him her find and asked him to mention it to me. She would make me a present of the precious seeds, the idea being that some wonderful shrub would grow from them and beautify my garden.