virtuous Gazonal.

"It is amusing! People may cry up the pleasures of hunting and fishing
as much as they like but to stalk a man in Paris is far better fun."

"Certainly," said Gazonal, reflectively, speaking to himself, "they
must have great talent."

"If I were to enumerate the qualities which make a man remarkable in
our vocation," said Fromenteau, whose rapid glance had enabled him to

fathom Gazonal completely, "you'd think I was talking of a man of
genius. First, we must have the eyes of a lynx; next, audacity (to

tear into houses like bombs, accost the servants as if we knew them,
and propose treachery--always agreed to); next, memory, sagacity,

invention (to make schemes, conceived rapidly, never the same--for
spying must be guided by the characters and habits of the persons

spied upon; it is a gift of heaven); and, finally, agility, vigor. All
these facilities and qualities, monsieur, are depicted on the door of

the Gymnase-Amoros as Virtue. Well, we must have them all, under pain
of losing the salaries given us by the State, the rue de Jerusalem, or

the minister of Commerce."
"You certainly seem to me a remarkable man," said Gazonal.

Fromenteau looked at the provincial without replying, without
betraying the smallest sign of feeling, and departed, bowing to no

one,--a trait of real genius.
"Well, cousin, you have now seen the police incarnate," said Leon to

Gazonal.
"It has something the effect of a dinner-pill," said the worthy

provincial, while Gaillard and Bixiou were talking together in a low
voice.

"I'll give you an answer to-night at Carabine's," said Gaillard aloud,
re-seating himself at his desk without seeing or bowing to Gazonal.

"He is a rude fellow!" cried the Southerner as they left the room.
"His paper has twenty-two thousand subscribers," said Leon de Lora.

"He is one of the five great powers of the day, and he hasn't, in the
morning, the time to be polite. Now," continued Leon, speaking to

Bixiou, "if we are going to the Chamber to help him with his lawsuit
let us take the longest way round."

"Words said by great men are like silver-gilt spoons with the gilt
washed off; by dint of repetition they lose their brilliancy," said

Bixiou. "Where shall we go?"
"Here, close by, to our hatter?" replied Leon.

"Bravo!" cried Bixiou. "If we keep on in this way, we shall have an
amusing day of it."

"Gazonal," said Leon, "I shall make the man pose for you; but mind
that you keep a serious face, like the king on a five-franc piece, for

you are going to see a choice original, a man whose importance has
turned his head. In these days, my dear fellow, under our new

political dispensation, every human being tries to cover himself with
glory, and most of them cover themselves with ridicule; hence a lot of

living caricatures quite new to the world."
"If everybody gets glory, who can be famous?" said Gazonal.

"Fame! none but fools want that," replied Bixiou. "Your cousin wears
the cross, but I'm the better dressed of the two, and it is I whom

people are looking at."
After this remark, which may explain why orators and other great

statesmen no longer put the ribbon in their buttonholes when in Paris,
Leon showed Gazonal a sign, bearing, in golden letters, the

illustrious name of "Vital, successor to Finot, manufacturer of hats"
(no longer "hatter" as formerly), whose advertisements brought in more

money to the newspapers than those of any half-dozen vendors of pills
or sugarplums,--the author, moreover, of an essay on hats.

"My dear fellow," said Bixiou to Gazonal, pointing to the splendors of
the show-window, "Vital has forty thousand francs a year from invested

property."
"And he stays a hatter!" cried the Southerner, with a bound that

almost broke the arm which Bixiou had linked in his.
"You shall see the man," said Leon. "You need a hat and you shall have

one gratis."
"Is Monsieur Vital absent?" asked Bixiou, seeing no one behind the

desk.
"Monsieur is correcting proof in his study," replied the head clerk.

"Hein! what style!" said Leon to his cousin; then he added, addressing
the clerk: "Could we speak to him without injury to his inspiration?"

"Let those gentlemen enter," said a voice.
It was a bourgeois voice, the voice of one eligible to the Chamber, a

powerful voice, a wealthy voice.
Vital deigned to show himself, dressed entirely in black cloth, with a

splendid frilled shirt adorned with one diamond. The three friends
observed a young and pretty woman sitting near the desk, working at

some embroidery.
Vital is a man between thirty and forty years of age, with a natural

joviality now repressed by ambitious ideas. He is blessed with that
medium height which is the privilege of sound organizations. He is

rather plump, and takes great pains with his person. His forehead is
getting bald, but he uses that circumstance to give himself the air of

a man consumed by thought. It is easy to see by the way his wife looks
at him and listens to him that she believes in the genius and glory of

her husband. Vital loves artists, not that he has any taste for art,
but from fellowship; for he feels himself an artist, and makes this

felt by disclaiming that title of nobility, and placing himself with
constant premeditation at so great a distance from the arts that

persons may be forced to say to him: "You have raised the construction
of hats to the height of a science."

"Have you at last discovered a hat to suit me?" asked Leon de Lora.
"Why, monsieur! in fifteen days?" replied Vital, "and for you! Two

months would hardly suffice to invent a shape in keeping with your
countenance. See, here is your lithographic portrait: I have studied

it most carefully. I would not give myself that trouble for a prince;
but you are more; you are an artist, and you understand me."

"This is one of our greatest inventors," said Bixiou presenting
Gazonal. "He might be as great as Jacquart if he would only let

himself die. Our friend, a manufacturer of cloth, has discovered a
method of replacing the indigo in old blue coats, and he wants to see

you as another great phenomenon, because he has heard of your saying,
'The hat is the man.' That speech of yours enraptured him. Ah! Vital,

you have faith; you believe in something; you have enthusiasm for your
work."

Vital scarcely listened; he grew pale with pleasure.
"Rise, my wife! Monsieur is a man of science."

Madame Vital rose at her husband's gesture. Gazonal bowed to her.
"Shall I have the honor to cover your head?" said Vital, with joyful

obsequiousness.
"At the same price as mine," interposed Bixiou.

"Of course, of course; I ask no other fee than to be quoted by you,
messieurs-- Monsieur needs a picturesque hat, something in the style

of Monsieur Lousteau's," he continued, looking at Gazonal with the eye
of a master. "I will consider it."

"You give yourself a great deal of trouble," said Gazonal.
"Oh! for a few persons only; for those who know how to appreciate the

value of the pains I bestow upon them. Now, take the aristocracy--
there is but one man there who has truly comprehended the Hat; and

that is the Prince de Bethune. How is it that men do not consider, as
women do, that the hat is the first thing that strikes the eye? And

why have they never thought of changing the present system, which is,
let us say it frankly, ignoble? Yes, ignoble; and yet a Frenchman is,

of all nationalities, the one most persistent in this folly! I know
the difficulties of a change, messieurs. I don't speak of my own