My new friend introduced me to the professor, who received me with all
the polished courtesy of the French man of letters. He that loves letters
should love all other lovers of letters, and in France that is the case,
even more so than Italy. In Germany the literary man has an air of
mysterious reserve. He thinks he is proclaiming to all the world that he
at all events is a man of no pretension, whereas his pride peeps through
every moment. Naturally the stranger is not encouraged by such a manner
as this.

At the time of my visit there was an excellent company of actors at
Montpellier, whom I went to see the same evening. My bosom swelled at
finding myself in the blessed air of France after all the annoyances I
had gone through in Spain. I seemed to have become young again; but I was
altered, for several beautiful and clever actresses appeared on the stage
without arousing any desires within me; and I would have it so.

I had a lively desire to find Madame Castelbajac, not with any wish to
renew my old relations with her. I wished to congratulate her on her
improved position, but I was afraid of compromising her by asking for her
in the town.

I knew that her husband was an apothecary, so I resolved to make the
acquaintance of all the apothecaries in the place. I pretended to be in
want of some very rare drugs, and entered into conversation about the
differences between the trade in France and in foreign countries. If I
spoke to the master I hoped he would talk to his wife about the stranger
who had visited the countries where she had been, and that that would
make her curious to know me. If, on the other hand, I spoke to the man, I
knew he would soon tell me all he knew about his master's family.