“Frantz Mathéus, sole inventor of the famous psychologico-anthropo-zoological doctrine, which has shaken the world, astounded ignorance, exasperated envy, and struck the universe with admiration! Frantz Mathéus, to whom have been entrusted the destinies of humanity and of cosmological philosophy, founded on the three kingdoms of nature—vegetable, animal, and human! Frantz Mathéus, who for fifteen years has languished in shameful ease, and whose indignant conscience every day reproaches him with having abandoned to the hazard of systems, to the sophisms of schools, and to the disastrous influence of prejudice, the future of humankind!” Martha trembled in every limb; never had she seen her master in such a state of enthusiasm. The illustrious philosopher, on his side, marked with satisfaction his servant’s bewilderment. He went on with redoubled eloquence— “How long, Mathéus, will you take upon yourself this frightful responsibility? How long will you forget the sublime mission imposed on you by genius? Do you not hear the voices calling you? Do you not know that, to mount the ladder of being, one must suffer, and that to suffer is to merit? Ignorance and sophistry raise themselves in vain against you? March—march! Frantz Mathéus! Sow on your way the beneficent germs of anthropo-zoology, and your glory, immortal as truth, shall grow from age to age, sheltering beneath its evergreen foliage the future generations! It is for this purpose, Martha, that you must pack up my valise this evening; tell Nickel, the cobbler, to mend Bruno’s saddle; give a double feed of oats to the poor beast; and I shall set off to-morrow before daybreak, to preach my doctrine to the universe.” At this conclusion Martha was very nearly tumbling backwards; she thought her master had gone out of his senses. “What, Doctor!” she stammered; “you want to leave us—to abandon us? Oh, no! it’s impossible! You—so good—who have none but friends in the place! You can’t think of such a thing!” “It must be so,” replied Mathéus stoically—“it must be so; it is my duty.” Martha said no more, and appeared to resign herself. As usual, she laid the cloth and served up the Doctor’s supper. That day it was a fowl with rice, and filberts for dessert; Mathéus—of the family of the nibblers—was very fond of nuts. His servant redoubled her usual attentions; she herself carved the fowl, and assisted him to the most delicate morsels; she refilled his glass to the brim, and looked at him with a melancholy eye, as if in pity. When the meal was finished, she conducted Mathéus into his little bedroom, turned the bedclothes down herself, and satisfied herself that his cotton nightcap was under the pillow.