Favourite gazed tenderly at Blachevelle and said：——
'Blachevelle，I adore you.'
This called forth a question from Blachevelle：——
'What would you do，Favourite，if I were to cease to love you？'
'I！'cried Favourite.
'Ah！
Do not say that even in jest！If you were to cease to love me，I would spring after you，I would scratch you，I should rend you，I would throw you into the water，I would have you arrested.'
Blachevelle smiled with the voluptuous self-conceit of a man who is tickled in his self-love.Favourite resumed：——
'Yes，I would scream to the police！
Ah！
I should not restrain myself，not at all！
Rabble！'
Blachevelle threw himself back in his chair，in an ecstasy，and closed both eyes proudly.
Dahlia，as she ate，said in a low voice to Favourite，amid the uproar：——
'So you really idolize him deeply，that Blachevelle of yours？'
'I？
I detest him，'replied Favourite in the same tone，seizing her fork again.
'He is avaricious.
I love the little fellow opposite me in my house.
He is very nice，that young man；do you know him？One can see that he is an actor by profession.
I love actors.As soon as he comes in，his mother says to him：
Ah！mon Dieu！my peace of mind is gone.
There he goes with his shouting.
But，my dear，you are splitting my head！'
So he goes up to rat-ridden garrets，to black holes，as high as he can mount，and there he sets to singing，declaiming，how do I know what？so that he can be heard down stairs！He earns twenty sous a day at an attorney's by penning quibbles.He is the son of a former precentor of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas.Ah！he is very nice.
He idolizes me so，that one day when he saw me ****** batter for some pancakes，he said to me：
Mamselle，make your gloves into fritters，and I will eat them.'
It is only artists who can say such things as that.
Ah！he is very nice.I am in a fair way to go out of my head over that little fellow.Never mind；I tell Blachevelle that I adore him——how I lie！
Hey！
How I do lie！'
Favourite paused，and then went on：——
'I am sad，you see，Dahlia.
It has done nothing but rain all summer；the wind irritates me；the wind does not abate.
Blachevelle is very stingy；there are hardly any green peas in the market；one does not know what to eat.
I have the spleen，as the English say，butter is so dear！and then you see it is horrible，here we are dining in a room with a bed in it，and that disgusts me with life.'
Ⅶ THE WISDOM OF THOLOMYES
In the meantime，while some sang，the rest talked together tumultuously all at once；it was no longer anything but noise.Tholomyes intervened.
'Let us not talk at random nor too fast，'he exclaimed.'Let us reflect，if we wish to be brilliant.
Too much improvisation empties the mind in a stupid way.
Running beer gathers no froth.No haste，gentlemen.
Let us mingle majesty with the feast.
Let us eat with meditation；let us make haste slowly.
Let us not hurry.Consider the springtime；if it makes haste，it is done for；that is to say，it gets frozen.
Excess of zeal ruins peach-trees and apricot-trees.Excess of zeal kills the grace and the mirth of good dinners.
No zeal，gentlemen！
Grimod de la Reyniere agrees with Talleyrand.'
A hollow sound of rebellion rumbled through the group.
'Leave us in peace，Tholomyes，'said Blachevelle.
'Down with the tyrant！'said Fameuil.
'Bombarda，Bombance，and Bambochel！'cried Listolier.
'Sunday exists，'resumed Fameuil.
'We are sober，'added Listolier.
'Tholomyes，'remarked Blachevelle，'contemplate my calmness[mon calme].'
'You are the Marquis of that，'retorted Tholomyes.
This mediocre play upon words produced the effect of a stone in a pool.The Marquis de Montcalm was at that time a celebrated royalist.All the frogs held their peace.
'Friends，'cried Tholomyes，with the accent of a man who had recovered his empire，'Come to yourselves.
This pun which has fallen from the skies must not be received with too much stupor.Everything which falls in that way is not necessarily worthy of enthusiasm and respect.
The pun is the dung of the mind which soars.The jest falls，no matter where；and the mind after producing a piece of stupidity plunges into the azure depths.
A whitish speck flattened against the rock does not prevent the condor from soaring aloft.Far be it from me to insult the pun！
I honor it in proportion to its merits；nothing more.
All the most august，the most sublime，the most charming of humanity，and perhaps outside of humanity，have made puns.
Jesus Christ made a pun on St.Peter，Moses on Isaac，AEschylus on Polynices，Cleopatra on Octavius.
And observe that Cleopatra's pun preceded the battle of Actium，and that had it not been for it，no one would have remembered the city of Toryne，a Greek name which signifies a ladle.
That once conceded，I return to my exhortation.
I repeat，brothers，I repeat，no zeal，no hubbub，no excess；even in witticisms，gayety，jollities，or plays on words.Listen to me.
I have the prudence of Amphiaraus and the baldness of Caesar.
There must be a limit，even to rebuses.
Est modus in rebus.
'There must be a limit，even to dinners.
You are fond of apple turnovers，ladies；do not indulge in them to excess.Even in the matter of turnovers，good sense and art are requisite.Gluttony chastises the glutton，Gula punit Gulax.
Indigestion is charged by the good God with preaching morality to stomachs.And remember this：
each one of our passions，even love，has a stomach which must not be filled too full.
In all things the word finis must be written in good season；self-control must be exercised when the matter becomes urgent；the bolt must be drawn on appetite；one must set one's own fantasy to the violin，and carry one's self to the post.
The sage is the man who knows how，at a given moment，to effect his own arrest.
