The councillor proceeded, then, with slow steps towards the place of his daily walk. Approaching the overthrown tree which generally served him as a seat, he heard some one speaking in a loud voice. . . . Annoyed by finding his place occupied, he stopped behind a holly-bush. But what was his surprise, when he heard a young and sweet voice reciting with admirable accentuation and elegant expression, these verses from the first Satire of Persius: "O curas hominum! O quantum est in rebus inane!" etc.[3] The councillor held his breath, listened, and when the voice ceased, he quickly advanced to see who was this stranger who appeared to enjoy so much his favorite author. He saw a young man negligently dressed, with rolls of paper thrust into the pockets of his old black coat; beside him was a voluminous quarto. The exterior of Létorière, for it was he, gave an instant impression of a poor poet; a narrow cravat of coarse linen, an old felt hat, rusty with age, a pale and half-famished countenance; nothing was wanting to this new metamorphosis. At sight of the old councillor, the Marquis respectfully arose. "Ah, young man, is not our Persius the king of poets?" cried Sphex, eagerly, striking the palm of his hand on the Elzevir which he drew from his pocket, and approaching Létorière with a radiant air. "Sir!" said the Marquis abashed, "I did not know" . . . "I was there, I was there behind the holly-bush; I heard you begin the recital of the first satire of our poet, of our god! for, by Hercules, young man, I see that you appreciate him as I do! Never could a Tuscan pronounce with more purity than you, the inimitable poetry of our common hero; and truly, my old heart is rejoiced at this meeting, as happy as it is unexpected. "'_Hunc, Macrine, diem numera meliore lapillo!_'"[4] cried the old man; and he cordially held out his hand to his new acquaintance, having borrowed this quotation from his favorite author. "If it were not too presumptuous, sir," answered Létorière, with humility, "I should dare to answer you:" "'Non equidem hoc dubites, amboram fœdere certo Consentira dies, et ah uno sidere duci.'"[5] "Bravo! my young friend, it would be impossible to answer with more spirit, or more to the point! You must know my Persius, my inimitable stoic, as well as I do; but what is given to you, and which, alas! I have not, is this beautiful and harmonious pronunciation, so musical that I am transported by it! So," added the councillor, hesitating, "if I dared, I would ask you, in the name of our common admiration, to repeat to me the first verses of the third satire." "With pleasure, sir," said Létorière, smiling. "'Hæc cedo, ut admoveam templis et farre litabo.'"[6] "Better and better!" cried the savant, clapping his hands. "But _apropos_ to this quotation, what signification do you give to _far?_" and the doctor fastened an anxious look on the young man, whose knowledge he wished to put to the proof by this question.