danced before my eyes, stared at me fixedly, opened her arms to me,
assuming in my imagination a sort of life which made her appear at
once mysterious and weird, and thereby all the more charming and
desirable.

Finally, one day--a day I shall never forget--my nurse took me to
see my uncle, Captain Victor, who had invited me to lunch. I admired
my uncle a great deal, as much because he had fired the last French
cartridge at Waterloo, as because he used to prepare with his own
hands, at my mother's table, certain chapons-a-l'ail [Crust on
which garlic has been rubbed], which he afterwards put in the chicory
salad. I thought that was very fine! My Uncle Victor also inspired
me with much respect by his frogged coat, and still more by his way
of turning the whole house upside down from the moment he came into
it. Even now I cannot tell just how he managed it, but I can affirm
that whenever my Uncle Victor found himself in any assembly of twenty
persons, it was impossible to see or to hear anybody but him. My
excellent father, I have reason to believe, never shared my admiration
for Uncle Victor, who used to sicken him with his pipe, give him
great thumps in the back by way of friendliness, and accuse him of
lacking energy. My mother, though always showing a sister's
indulgence to the Captain, sometimes advised him to fold the brandy-
bottle a little less frequently. But I had no part either in these
repugnances or these reproaches, and Uncle Victor inspired me with
the purest enthusiasm. It was therefore with a feeling of pride that
I entered into the little lodging he occupied in the Rue Guenegaud.
The entire lunch, served on a small table close to the fireplace,
consisted of cold meats and confectionery.

The Captain stuffed me with cakes and undiluted wine. He told me of