Have some confidence in me，for I have succeeded to some extent in my study of the law，according to the verdict of my examinations，for I know the difference between the question put and the question pending，for I have sustained a thesis in Latin upon the manner in which torture was administered at Rome at the epoch when Munatius Demens was quaestor of the Parricide；because I am going to be a doctor，apparently it does not follow that it is absolutely necessary that I should be an imbecile.I recommend you to moderation in your desires.
It is true that my name is Felix Tholomyes；I speak well.
Happy is he who，when the hour strikes，takes a heroic resolve，and abdicates like Sylla or Origenes.'
Favourite listened with profound attention.
'Felix，'said she，'what a pretty word！
I love that name.It is Latin；it means prosper.'
Tholomyes went on：——
'Quirites，gentlemen，caballeros，my friends.
Do you wish never to feel the prick，to do without the nuptial bed，and to brave love？Nothing more ******.
Here is the receipt：
lemonade，excessive exercise，hard labor；work yourself to death，drag blocks，sleep not，hold vigil，gorge yourself with nitrous beverages，and potions of nymphaeas；drink emulsions of poppies and agnus castus；season this with a strict diet，starve yourself，and add thereto cold baths，girdles of herbs，the application of a plate of lead，lotions made with the subacetate of lead，and fomentations of oxycrat.'
'I prefer a woman，'said Listolier.
'Woman，'resumed Tholomyes；'distrust her.
Woe to him who yields himself to the unstable heart of woman！
Woman is perfidious and disingenuous.
She detests the serpent from professional jealousy.The serpent is the shop over the way.'
'Tholomyes！'cried Blachevelle，'you are drunk！'
'Pardieu，'said Tholomyes.
'Then be gay，'resumed Blachevelle.
'I agree to that，'responded Tholomyes.
And，refilling his glass，he rose.
'Glory to wine！
Nunc te，Bacche，canam！
Pardon me ladies；that is Spanish.
And the proof of it，senoras，is this：
like people，like cask.
The arrobe of Castile contains sixteen litres；the cantaro of Alicante，twelve；the almude of the Canaries，twenty-five；the cuartin of the Balearic Isles，twenty-six；the boot of Tzar Peter，thirty.
Long live that Tzar who was great，and long live his boot，which was still greater！
Ladies，take the advice of a friend；make a mistake in your neighbor if you see fit.The property of love is to err.
A love affair is not made to crouch down and brutalize itself like an English serving-maid who has callouses on her knees from scrubbing.
It is not made for that；it errs gayly，our gentle love.
It has been said，error is human；I say，error is love.
Ladies，I idolize you all.
O Zephine，O Josephine，face more than irregular，you would be charming were you not all askew.
You have the air of a pretty face upon which some one has sat down by mistake.
As for Favourite，O nymphs and muses！one day when Blachevelle was crossing the gutter in the Rue Guerin-Boisseau，he espied a beautiful girl with white stockings well drawn up，which displayed her legs.
This prologue pleased him，and Blachevelle fell in love.
The one he loved was Favourite.
O Favourite，thou hast Ionian lips.
There was a Greek painter named Euphorion，who was surnamed the painter of the lips.
That Greek alone would have been worthy to paint thy mouth.
Listen！before thee，there was never a creature worthy of the name.
Thou wert made to receive the apple like Venus，or to eat it like Eve；beauty begins with thee.I have just referred to Eve；it is thou who hast created her.Thou deservest the letters-patent of the beautiful woman.
O Favourite，I cease to address you asthou，'because I pass from poetry to prose.You were speaking of my name a little while ago.
That touched me；but let us，whoever we may be，distrust names.
They may delude us.I am called Felix，and I am not happy.
Words are liars.
Let us not blindly accept the indications which they afford us.
It would be a mistake to write to Liege[2]for corks，and to Pau for gloves.Miss Dahlia，were I in your place，I would call myself Rosa.A flower should smell sweet，and woman should have wit.
I say nothing of Fantine；she is a dreamer，a musing，thoughtful，pensive person；she is a phantom possessed of the form of a nymph and the modesty of a nun，who has strayed into the life of a grisette，but who takes refuge in illusions，and who sings and prays and gazes into the azure without very well knowing what she sees or what she is doing，and who，with her eyes fixed on heaven，wanders in a garden where there are more birds than are in existence.
O Fantine，know this：I，Tholomyes，I am all illusion；but she does not even hear me，that blond maid of Chimeras！as for the rest，everything about her is freshness，suavity，youth，sweet morning light.
O Fantine，maid worthy of being called Marguerite or Pearl，you are a woman from the beauteous Orient.
Ladies，a second piece of advice：do not marry；marriage is a graft；it takes well or ill；avoid that risk.
But bah！what am I saying？
I am wasting my words.Girls are incurable on the subject of marriage，and all that we wise men can say will not prevent the waistcoat-makers and the shoe-stitchers from dreaming of husbands studded with diamonds.Well，so be it；but，my beauties，remember this，you eat too much sugar.You have but one fault，O woman，and that is nibbling sugar.O nibbling ***，your pretty little white teeth adore sugar.Now，heed me well，sugar is a salt.
All salts are withering.Sugar is the most desiccating of all salts；it sucks the liquids of the blood through the veins；hence the coagulation，and then the solidification of the blood；hence tubercles in the lungs，hence death.That is why diabetes borders on consumption.
Then，do not crunch sugar，and you will live.
I turn to the men：
gentlemen，make conquest，rob each other of your well-beloved without remorse.
Chassez across.In love there are no friends.
Everywhere where there is a pretty woman hostility is open.
