"According to my slender experience," unhesitatingly replied the Marquis, "_far_ signifies the grain of which flour is made; and, contrary to the opinion of Casaubon and Scaliger, I believe that this word applies not only to bread, but to corn, to barley, in a word, to all sorts of grain; for you know, sir, that _far_ was with salt, the most common of offerings; and it is that, I think, that Virgil means by these words, _fruges salsae . . . salsa mola_ . . . it is then as a kind of humble offering to our common divinity, sir, that I will repeat the verses which please you." Then Létorière kindly recited the whole satire, giving to his harmonious voice an expression by turns so fine, so pointed, and so energetic, that doctor Sphex, delighted, cried out: "Nothing has escaped him! not a shade! not an idea! he has not stopped on the surface of the words! he scrutinizes them, he examines them, he weighs them, he penetrates through the brilliant exterior, and brings to light the profound and hidden sense. . . . Young man! . . . young man!" . . . added Sphex, rising, . . . "my respects to you. To read thus is to translate! To translate thus is so to assimilate yourself with the mind of the original as to substitute the individuality of the author for your own! Now I declare to you, that a man so happy and so rarely endowed as to individualize himself with Persius, deserves, in my opinion, almost as much respect as Persius himself! Yes, I consider this phenomenon of assimilation as a kind of relation . . . of intellectual parentage! Now then, mark this, young man! . . . Were it not for the immense difference in age which separates us, I should say that we were brothers in intelligence, children of one father." Dr. Sphex had spoken with so much vehemence and enthusiasm, that Létorière regarded him with profound astonishment, fearing that he had been deceived, and was talking to a monomaniac instead of the Aulic Councillor, for whom he was waiting. The _savant_, differently interpreting his silence, continued: "You see I act like an old fool. . . . I treat you as a brother, and have not thought of asking to what learned Latin scholar I have the honor of speaking." "My name is Létorière, sir," said the Marquis, saluting him. "Létorière!" cried Sphex, turning away suddenly. "You may perhaps be a relative of the Marquis of that name?" "I myself am the Marquis of Létorière, sir." "You! you!! you!!!" cried the doctor, in three different tones. "Come now, that's impossible. The Marquis of Létorière is, they say, as ignorant as a carp, and as flighty as a butterfly; he is one of those beautiful triflers incapable of understanding a word of Latin, and who, as to Persius, know only stuffs of that name," added the councillor, well pleased with this detestable joke. "I see, with pain, that I have been calumniated, sir," said the Marquis. "Are you really, then, M. de Létorière?" said Sphex, stupefied.