the gros lots. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. But he must send me La Vie de J�sus by M. L�o Taxil. Lent it to his friend.

C’est tordant, vous savez. Moi, je suis socialiste. Je ne crois pas en l’existence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire � mon p�re.

Il croit?

Mon p�re, oui.

Schluss. He laps.

My Latin quarter hat. God, we simply must dress the character. I want puce gloves. You were a student, weren’t you? Of what in the other devil’s name? Paysayenn. P. C. N., you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Aha. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen.

Just say in the most natural tone: when I was in Paris; boul’