unfortunately, were for her the chief charm of our woodland
retreat, though it filled our landlord with terror when he saw us
returning with our spoils, as he felt sure we should be poisoned
if we ate them.

My destiny, which almost invariably led me into strange
adventures, here once more introduced me to the most eccentric
character to be found not only in the neighbourhood of Meudon,
but even in Paris. This was M. Jadin, who, though he was old
enough to be able to say that he remembered seeing Madame de
Pompadour at Versailles, was still vigorous beyond belief. It
appeared to be his aim to keep the world in a constant state of
conjecture as to his real age; he made everything for himself
with his own hands, including even a quantity of wigs of every
shade, ranging in the most comic variety from youthful flaxen to
the most venerable white, with intermediate shades of grey; these
he wore alternately, as the fancy pleased him. He dabbled in
everything, and I was pleased to find he had a particular fancy
for painting. The fact that all the walls of his rooms were hung
with the most childish caricatures of animal life, and that he
had even embellished the outside of his blinds with the most
ridiculous paintings, did not disconcert me in the least; on the
contrary, it confirmed my belief that he did not dabble in music,
until, to my horror, I discovered that the strangely discordant
sounds of a harp which kept reaching my ears from some unknown
region were actually proceeding from his basement, where he had
two harpsichords of his own invention. He informed me that he had
unfortunately neglected playing them for a long time, but that he
now meant to begin practising again assiduously in order to give
me pleasure. I succeeded in dissuading him from this, by assuring