Paris he had long occupied rooms in the Rue de Bellechasse, where Madame Alphonse Daudet was accustomed to entertain a brilliant company. But in 1897 it became impossible for him to mount five flights of stairs any longer, and he moved to the first floor of No. 41 Rue de l’Universite. Here on the 16th of December, 1897, as he was chatting gaily at the dinner-table, he uttered a cry, fell back in his chair, and was dead. The personal appearance of Alphonse Daudet, in his prime, was very striking; he had clearly cut features, large brilliant eyes, and an amazing exuberance of curled hair and forked beard. EDMUND GOSSE, LL.D. CONTENTS Introduction, William Peterfield Trent Life of Alphonse Daudet, Edmund Gosse THE NABOB: Dr. Jenkins’s patients A luncheon in the Place Vendome Memoirs of an office porter--A mere glance at the Territorial Bank A debut in society The Joyeuse family Felicia Ruys Jansoulet at home The Bethlehem Society Bonne Maman Memoirs of an office porter--Servants The festivities in honour of the Bey A Corsican election A day of spleen The Exhibition Memoirs of an office porter--In the antechamber A public man The apparition The Jenkins pearls The funeral La Baronne Hemerlingue The sitting Dramas of Paris Memoirs of an office porter--The last leaves At Bordighera The first night of “Revolt” THE NABOB by Alphonse Daudet DOCTOR JENKIN’S PATIENTS Standing on the steps of his little town-house in the Rue de Lisbonne, freshly shaven, with sparkling eyes, and lips parted in easy enjoyment, his long hair slightly gray flowing over a huge coat collar, square shouldered, strong as an oak, the famous Irish doctor, Robert Jenkins, Knight of the Medjidjieh and of the distinguished order of Charles III of Spain, President and Founder of the Bethlehem Society. Jenkins in a word, the Jenkins of the Jenkins Pills with an arsenical base--that is to say, the fashionable doctor of the year 1864, the busiest man in Paris, was preparing to step into his carriage when a casement opened on the first floor looking over the inner court-yard of the house, and a woman’s voice asked timidly: “Shall you be home for luncheon, Robert?” Oh, how good and loyal was the smile that suddenly illumined the fine apostle-like head with its air of learning, and in the tender “good-morning” which his eyes threw up towards the warm, white dressing-gown visible behind the raised curtains; how easy it was to divine one of those conjugal passions, tranquil and sure, which habit re-enforces and with supple and stable bonds binds closer.