“Friend,” he said to him, “attend closely to what I tell you: it is not meadows, gardens, or houses that have to be considered when one marries; but races—that is to say, families of carnivorous, frugivorous, herbivorous, graminivorous, insectivorous, omnivorous, or other animals which it would take too long to mention here—which must be taken into account in considering the use of life. Observe: pigeons do not pair with buzzards, foxes with cats, goats with birds; well! it must be the same with men, for if you examine the matter from the psychologico-anthropo-zoological point of view, the only true method—because it is the only one that is universal—you will observe that there are species of men as well as species of animals. It is very simple: we all come from one animal, as I have demonstrated in the twenty-third chapter of the eighth volume of my _Palingenesis_: read that work, and you will be convinced of it. Now, then, we must mix and combine races with judicious attention; it is the special mission of humanity, which is the general meeting-place, the fusion of all types, submitted to a new force, which I call will. Let us still proceed by analogy: the race of deer and that of hares, for example, might form a happy mixture, while those of wolves and sheep could not produce anything but a kind of monsters, at once stupid and ferocious, cowardly and cruel! Alas! how many of these sad alliances do we not see in the world! Nothing but fortune is now consulted, and that is very wrong! Now, as particularly regards you, my friend—I do not advise you to marry. Your health——” But Tapihans, pale with rage, would not allow him to finish. “What!” he roared; “do you dare to say that I resemble a wolf?” And, using all his force, he flung his jug at Mathéus. Fortunately the illustrious philosopher, with his habitual prudence, moved quickly, so that the missile struck Coucou Peter full in the stomach, and caused him to utter a dolorous groan. Before Mathéus had recovered from his amazement, Tapihans had opened the door and fled. Dame Catherina rushed and seized a broomstick, and, standing on her doorstep, was heard calling down the street— “Blackguard! come back if you dare! Wretch! to insult honourable people in my house! Was ever seen the like!” She then returned indoors, flew to Mathéus, begged him to drink a glass of wine, sprinkled his temples with cold water, and consoled him in all sorts of ways. Coucou Peter sighed, and exclaimed, in plaintive tones— “My organism is very ill, very ill! Soffayel, my dear Soffayel, make haste and refill the bottle, or I shall faint.” At the end of a quarter of an hour Mathéus came to himself, and murmured— “This man evidently belongs to the race of beasts of prey; he is capable of returning with a hatchet, or some other instrument of the kind!” “Only let him come back!” cried the stout widow, doubling her fist in a threatening manner; “only let him come back!”