“I dare say.”

“My boy, there was nothing left of him.  Do you know the case?”

“No.”

“A magnificent case!  My notes must be somewhere about; I will get them out for you.”

The good man beamed.  Evidently he had not had a talk all day, and felt he must expand and let himself out to somebody.  I appeared in the nick of time, and came in for all his honey.  He rose, went to a bookcase, ran his eye along a shelf, took down a volume, and began, in a low tone:  “’Cooperation is the mighty lever upon which an effete society relies to extricate itself from its swaddling-clothes and take a loftier flight.’  Tut, tut!  What stuff is this?  I beg your pardon.  I was reading from a work on moral philosophy.  Where the deuce is my opinion?”

He found it and, text in hand, began a long account of the action, with names, dates, moments of excitement, and many quotations in extenso.

“Yes, my young friend, two hundred and eighteen thousand francs did I win in that action for Monsieur Prebois, of Bourges; you know Prebois, the manufacturer?”

“By name.”

At last he put the note-book back on its shelf, and deigned to remember that I had come about the Junian Latins.

“In which of the authorities do you find a difficulty?”

“My difficulty lies in the want of authorities, sir, I wish to find out whether the Junian Latins had not a special dress.”

“To be sure.”  He scratched his head.  “Gaius says nothing on the point?”

“No.”

“Papinian?”

“No.”

“Justinian?”

“No.”

“Then I see only one resource.”

“What is that?”

“Go to see Charnot.”

I felt myself growing pale, and stammered, with a piteous look: 

“Monsieur Charnot, of the Acad—­”

“The Academy of Inscriptions; an intimate friend of mine, who will welcome you like a son, for he has none himself, poor man!”

“But perhaps the question is hardly important enough for me to trouble him like this—­”

“Hey?  Not important enough?  All new questions are important.  Charnot specializes on coins.  Coins and costumes are all one.  I will write to tell him you are coming.”

“I beg, sir—­”

“Nonsense; Nonsense; I’ll write him this very evening.  He will be delighted to see you.  I know him well, you understand.  He is like me; he likes industrious young men.”

M. Flamaran held out his hand.

“Good-by, young man.  Marry as soon as you have taken your degree.”

I did not recover from the shock till I was halfway across the Luxembourg Gardens, near the Tennis Court, when I sat down, overcome.  See what comes of enthusiasm and going to call on your tutor!  Ah, young three-and-twenty, when will you learn wisdom?

CHAPTER III

AN APOLOGY