could not exhibit the thick five days' stubble, to appear in
contrast with the heavy fringe that had been spared;--I could
not trim the fringe to the shortness of the stubble; I should
have looked like Pierrot. I had only, then, to remain bald, and,
if I obtained the post, to shave in secret--a harmless and
mournful imposition.

It was well for me that I came to this determination. I believe
it was the appearance of maturity which my head and dining upon
thoughts lent me, as much as my friend's praises, which created
my success with the amiable Mr. Lambert R. Poor. I witness that
my visit to him provided one of the most astonishing interviews
of my life. He was an instance of those strange beings of the
Western republic, at whom we are perhaps too prone to pass from
one of ourselves to another the secret smile, because of some
little imperfections of manner. It is a type which has grown
more and more familiar to us, yet never less strange: the man in
costly but severe costume, big, with a necessary great
waistcoat, not noticing the loudness of his own voice; as
ignorant of the thousand tiny things which we observe and feel
as he would be careless of them (except for his wife) if he
knew. We laugh at him, sometimes even to his face, and he does
not perceive it. We are a little afraid that he is too large to
see it; hence too large for us to comprehend, and in spite of
our laughter we are always conscious of a force--yes, of a
presence! We jeer slyly, but we respect, fear a little, and
would trust.

Such was my patron. He met me with a kind greeting, looked at me
very earnestly, but smiling as if he understood my good