him strongly, and his anger rose when he saw my good tutor, one
bottle in hand and two peeping out of his pockets, and by the look
of Catherine with her wet chemise sticking to her body.

"Young man," he said in an icy fit of passion to M. d'Anquetil, "I
have the honour to know your father, of whom I will inquire, not
later than to-morrow, the name of the town to which the king shall
send you to meditate over the shame of your behaviour and
impertinence. That worthy nobleman, to whom I have lent some money I
do not reclaim, can refuse me nothing. And our well-beloved Prince,
who is in precisely the same position as your father, has always a
kindness for me. Consider it a matter done. I have settled, thank
God, others more difficult. Now as to that lady yonder, of whom
neither repentance nor improvement can be expected. I'll say to-
morrow before noon, two words to the Lieutenant of Police, whom I
know to be well disposed, to send her to the spittel. I have nothing
else to say to you. This house is my property, I have paid for it
and I intend to enter when I like." Then, turning to his flunkeys,
and pointing out my tutor and myself with his walking stick, he
said:

"Throw these two drunkards out."

M. Jerome Coignard was commonly of an exemplary forbearance, and he
used to say that he owed his gentleness to the vicissitudes of life;
chance having treated him as the sea treats the pebbles--that is,
polishing them by means of the rolling of flood and ebb. He could
easily stand insults, as much by Christian spirit as by philosophy.
But what helped him best thereto was his deep-rooted contempt of
mankind, not excepting himself. However, for once he lost all