A thorn in the flesh was the chevalier. A man who, too thirsty, babbles in his cups, is provoking; but when he becomes maudlin and is scarcely ever sober, he is a grievous trial to his comrades. Having turned over the new leaf it was exasperating to Pharamond to be constantly reminded of the old one at inconvenient seasons by a hiccuping sot; to be implored between vinous sobs "to make her happy." It was urgently necessary to take poor shaky Phebus in tow and treat him with strict severity. Once or twice, in disgust, he thought of getting rid of the sodden creature, and even mentioned the subject to Clovis. But the latter would not hear of his banishment. "Where should we send him to alone?" he asked. "He would get into trouble and disgrace us. It was you who saddled us with him, so you must help us to bear the burthen." The abbé gave up the point without further discussion, for in dealing with the weak it is wise to let them have their way in small matters in order to get your own in large ones. Moreover, if kept under surveillance, Phebus might be improved, and it is not well to throw wilfully aside a man, however helpless, over whom we have obtained complete ascendency. Matters being arranged to his satisfaction so far, the astute and busy one bestirred himself about the marquis. Now that she was gone, Clovis had cause every hour, as she had foreseen, to regret Aglaé. Who so ingenious as she in disentangling knotty problems; who so clear of head in deciphering a theorem? Without her help, what was the use of the tub, or its precious contents? The evenings were interminable to him without his favourite music. The blessed violoncello reposed now in its box, for grunting on it all alone brought melancholy instead of solace to the musician. Before the cannon ball fell, neophyte and affinity had been concerting plans for removing the tub from a benighted neighbourhood to some more congenial sphere. Its blessings were wasted on rustic swine. Clovis longed to escape from the scene of his humiliation; burned to turn his back on Lorge; but there was a new and galling dread within, which kept him tongue-tied: a fear, that if he took too much upon himself the douche of an evil precedent would be turned on again; that the odious old rascal in Paris would warn him to obey his wife.