transported, “he is modest!” Then, turning towards the stranger, with a character of bluntbonhomie: “But tell me at least the name of your works, monsieur; for you will please to observe you have not told me your name, and I have been forced to divine your genius.”

“My name is Jupenet, monsieur,” said the author.

“A fine name! a grand name! upon my honor; and I do not know why — pardon me the mistake, if it be one — but surely I have heard that name somewhere.”

“I have made verses,” said the poet, modestly.

“Ah! that is it, then; I have heard them read.”

“A tragedy.”