Here, there were still more of politics, and also poets and literary men.  They lived a sort of hurly-burly life, on good terms, but one could not get them confounded, for the politicians were all beard, the litterateurs, all hair.

Jocquelet directed his steps without hesitation toward the magnificent red head of the whimsical poet, Paul Sillery, a handsome young fellow with a wide-awake face, who was nonchalantly stretched upon the red velvet cushion of the window-seat, before a table, around which were three other heads of thick hair worthy of our early kings.

“My dear Paul,” said Jocquelet, in his most thrilling voice, handing Sillery Amedee’s manuscript, “here are some verses that I think are superb, and I am going to recite them as soon as I can, at some entertainment or benefit.  Read them and give us your opinion of them.  I present their author to you, Monsieur Amedee Violette.  Amedee, I present you to Monsieur Paul Sillery.”

All the heads of hair, framing young and amiable faces, turned curiously toward the newcomer, whom Paul Sillery courteously invited to be seated, with the established formula, “What will you take?” Then he began to read the lines that the comedian had given him.

Amedee, seated on the edge of his chair, was distracted with timidity, for Paul Sillery already enjoyed a certain reputation as a rising poet, and had established a small literary sheet called La Guepe, which published upon its first page caricatures of celebrated men with large heads and little bodies, and Amedee had read in it some of Paul’s poems, full of impertinence and charm.  An author whose work had been published!  The editor of a journal!  The idea was stunning to poor innocent Violette, who was not aware then that La Guepe could not claim forty subscribers.  He considered Sillery something wonderful, and waited with a beating heart for the verdict of so formidable a judge.  At the end of a few moments Sillery said, without raising his eyes from the manuscript: 

“Here are some fine verses!”

A flood of delight filled the heart of the poet from the Faubourg St.-Jacques.

As soon as he had finished his reading, Paul arose from his seat, and, extending both hands over the carafes and glasses to Amedee, said, enthusiastically: 

“Let me shake hands with you!  Your description of the battle-scene is astonishing!  It is admirable!  It is as clear and precise as Merimee, and it has all the color and imagination that he lacks to make him a poet.  It is something absolutely new.  My dear Monsieur Violette, I congratulate you with all my heart!  I can not ask you for this beautiful poem for La Guepe that Jocquelet is so fortunate as to have to recite, and of which I hope he will make a success.  But I beg of you, as a great favor, to let me have some verses for my paper; they will be, I am sure, as good as these, if not better.  To be sure, I forgot to tell you that we shall not