tones behind doors as the "favorites of the cake," and every change of
favorite introduced into the Academy a sort of revolution. The knife was
a scepter, the pastry an emblem; the chosen ones were congratulated. The
agriculturists never cut the cake. Monsieur himself was always excluded,
although he ate his share.

The cake was cut in succession by poets, by painters, and by novelists.
A great musician had the privilege of measuring the portions of the cake
for some time; an ambassador succeeded him. Sometimes a man less well
known, but elegant and sought after, one of those who are called
according to the different epochs, "true gentleman," or "perfect
knight," or "dandy," or something else, seated himself, in his turn,
before the symbolic cake. Each of them, during this ephemeral reign,
exhibited greater consideration toward the husband; then, when the hour
of his fall had arrived, he passed on the knife toward the other, and
mingled once more with the crowd of followers and admirers of the
"beautiful Madame Anserre."

This state of things lasted a long time; but comets do not always shine
with the same brilliance. Everything gets worn out in society. One would
have said that gradually the eagerness of the cutters grew feebler; they
seemed to hesitate at times when the tray was held out to them; this
office, once so much coveted, became less and less desired. It was
retained for a shorter time; they appeared to be less proud of it.

Madame Anserre was prodigal of smiles and civilities. Alas! no one was
found any longer to cut it voluntarily. The newcomers seemed to decline
the honor. The "old favorites" reappeared one by one like dethroned
princes who have been replaced for a brief spell in power. Then, the
chosen ones became few, very few. For a month (oh, prodigy!) M, Anserre