all sympathy in contempt?"

"_Basta!_" he fiercely exclaimed. "I am like a vagrant cur: flying from
the sticks and stones of a vile rabble, I fawn with cringing servility
on the first hand that throws me a crust."

"Wrong, Marcel; wrong," I earnestly answered. "You are trying to warp
your nature, as you tried to force the fruits of summer to bloom and
ripen in midwinter. You _will_ be human, and your egg-plants will rot in
the earth."

My words seemed to have taken away every particle of color there was in
him. His eyes contracted until they resembled those of a wild animal,
and for a moment I thought he was going to spring at my throat. His
voice--when finally he regained it--sounded like that of another
person.

"M. Granger," said he, "a man visiting the _Jardin des Plantes_ once
undertook to stroke a leopard. Strange as it may appear, the animal was
more pleased with petting than the inquiring mind imagined. The instant
our naturalist attempted to desist, the creature raised his paw to
strike. There monsieur stood, for a whole night, gazing into his glaring
eyes and smoothing his soft neck. Can you imagine his feelings?"

With a bow that would have graced the Duc de Beaumont, he left. I heard
him hastily packing his modest wardrobe; and in fifteen minutes a
tilbury had whirled him away--whither, Heaven only knows.


Leaf the Third.