be supported by his neck? Is his body deformed, and his spine crooked?
Do you find that his stomach is big and pendent, that his hands drop
upon his thighs, that his legs are awkward, and the joints unusually
large? These are the symptoms of idiocy, gentleman, and you do not find
them in Cocoleu. I, for my part, see in him a scamp, who has an iron
constitution, who uses his hands very cleverly, climbs trees like a
monkey, and leaps ditches ten feet wide. To be sure, I do not pretend
that his intellect is normal; but I maintain that he is one of those
imbeciles who have certain faculties very fully developed, while others,
more essential, are missing."

While M. Folgat listened with the most intense interest, M. de Chandore
became impatient, and said,--

"The difference between an idiot and an imbecile"--

"There is a world between them," cried the doctor.

And at once he went on with overwhelming volubility,--

"The imbecile preserves some fragments of intelligence. He can speak,
make known his wants, and express his feelings. He associates ideas,
compares impressions, remembers things, and acquires experience. He is
capable of cunning and dissimulation. He hates and likes and fears.
If he is not always sociable, he is susceptible of being influenced
by others. You can easily obtain perfect control over him. His
inconsistency is remarkable; and still he shows, at times, invincible
obstinacy. Finally, imbeciles are, on account of this semi-lucidity,
often very dangerous. You find among them almost all those monomaniacs
whom society is compelled to shut up in asylums, because they cannot