off, the deplorable influence of Baptistin again made itself felt.

Anthime, whose name had long figured upon the list of future members of the Geographical Society of SaintPignon, thought himself sure of the vacant armchair, when M. Quiès was elected to it by a unanimous vote.

It was not until three years later that a similar honour was awarded to M. Bonamy.

In short, Quiès always came between him and his aim. On the great race course of life Quiès had a quarter of an hour's start of him. Let his pace be what it would, Anthime always came in second—and a bad second.

Hence the animosity which we have recorded, and which only wanted an opportunity to manifest itself.

Anthime's heart was full of gall; another drop and it would overflow.

At five o'clock he took his place at table, opposite to Athenaïs, as usual; but the farm of La Cochariotte was evidently in his thoughts still, for he put his spoon into the plate of soup that was set before him, and said angrily,—

"What is this?" "Milk-soup."

"Milk-soup!-when you know perfectly well that I cannot endure milk!"

"Milk-soup! A hit, I suppose, at my quick temper? You might bear in mind that you are not absolutely perfect yourself, Athenaïs."

"If I forget the fact, it is not for want of hearing. you repeat it."

"That is to say that I don't behave well to you; that I am a brute, a tyrant, because my patience breaks down sometimes? Why, a saint would not be able to put up with you sometimes. However, it is in the family."

"Sir!" exclaimed Madame Bonamy, highly indignant. "Well, what? What have I said? Milk-soup, indeed!"

"Do hold your tongue; the maid is coming into the room."

"The maid, indeed! I'm not to speak before her, am I not? Much I think about her!"

"If Monsieur is not satisfied with me--," said the woman, who had overheard his last words.

"What's all this? What's all that? No, certainly I am not satisfied with you."

"Monsieur has only to say so."

"I do say so; you can go away."

"I shall await my mistress's orders."

With these contemptuous words the maid went out of the room, as noisily as possible, leaving the wedded pair with a leg of mutton, burnt in the roasting, on the table before them.

“You see, madam, you see the very servants know that you will support them against me. I am respected by nobody, thanks to you. Ah, Quiès, Quiès, you shall pay for this!"

He rose from the table without carving the joint, and locked himself up in his study.

"It must end," he muttered; "it must end! Always J. B. Quiès! How does this fellow, a snail never out of its shell, contrive to plant himself in the middle of my path? A savant indeed! I am a savant, ay, and savantissime in omni re scibili, just as much as this Doctor Pancratius, and I will prove it to him. There lies my revenge!"

Then, becoming suddenly calm, he approached his writing-table with the dignity of a Rector followed by the four Faculties, opened one of the drawers, and took out some medals, which, judging by the verdigris that had accumulated upon them, were of considerable antiquity. He repeated, "There lies my revenge!"

M. Bonamy seated himself in a stately manner, turned back his coat-cuffs, passed his fingers through his hair, and wrote as follows :

"I entertain no doubt, gentlemen, that, after having examined the curious documents which I have the honour to submit to you, you will be struck with the probability of my conclusions, which rest on

M. Bonamy passed his fingers through his hair, and wrote.

"1. The four medals catalogued under No. 13. Although it is true the effigies have entirely disappeared, we cannot fail to recognize these medals as belonging to that period of our history.

"2. The three spear-heads of whose authenticity no doubt can exist in minds so cultivated as yours.

"3. The horse-shoe catalogued under No. 8, and still bearing a date which almost seems to corroborate my assertions. "Therefore, gentlemen, I unhesitatingly claim to be the first person who has authoritatively demonstrated that in A.D. 450, that is to say, in the time of Attila, Saint-Pignon les Girouettes was a fortified place."

If some evil genius had apprised M. Bonamy that Doctor J. B. Quiès was in the act of writing the same sentence at the same hour, this last pin-prick would probably have proved fatal, or if he had not died of it he would have planned some frightful crime.

Happily he knew nothing of it—as yet.

CHAPTER VII.

A GRAIN OF SAND IN A WATCH.

Two more days had fallen into the bottomless gulf of eternity. (How a classic would enjoy that sentence !) It was seven o'clock in the evening. Henri had just come in after a long day's shooting, fully half an hour late, eager to excuse himself for this breach of the chronometrical customs of the house, and also ready to do honour to the dinner, which, indeed, he had well earned. A hare and two pheasants!

What was his surprise to find the doctor standing upon the doorsteps. Henri made sure that he would have been far on the way through his dinner by this time. The worthy doctor appeared to be greatly upset by some unexpected event. His kindly fat cheeks, usually so fresh and ruddy, were suffused with a livid hue; the rest of his face was dead white. His eyes, which were very wide open, glittered feverishly behind his spectacles.

It was evident that something in the mechanism of Dr. J. B. Quiès had given way.

We say "mechanism," because no other word is applicable to natures mathematically organized like his. But, for the reason that they are so accurately framed, a mere nothing destroys them. Imagine the finest chronometer that could be constructed, with the most delicate movement, and let a grain of sand, nay, even a grain of dust, fall into it, the machinery will stop suddenly, and the hands will mark midday at five o'clock.

Thus it was with Doctor J. B. Quiès. In all cases of