in the fragrance with deep breaths.

The senator added: "It is good to be twenty-five and even to have
children like that."




THAT PIG OF A MORIN

"Here, my friend," I said to Labarbe, "you have just repeated those five
words, that pig of a Morin. Why on earth do I never hear Morin's name
mentioned without his being called a pig?"

Labarbe, who is a deputy, looked at me with his owl-like eyes and said:
"Do you mean to say that you do not know Morin's story and you come from
La Rochelle?" I was obliged to declare that I did not know Morin's story,
so Labarbe rubbed his hands and began his recital.

"You knew Morin, did you not, and you remember his large linen-draper's
shop on the Quai de la Rochelle?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, then. You must know that in 1862 or '63 Morin went to spend a
fortnight in Paris for pleasure; or for his pleasures, but under the
pretext of renewing his stock, and you also know what a fortnight in
Paris means to a country shopkeeper; it fires his blood. The theatre
every evening, women's dresses rustling up against you and continual
excitement; one goes almost mad with it. One sees nothing but dancers in