He was a little old Frenchman, lean as a haunch of dried venison, and scarcely less dark in complexion,—­though his color was nearer that of rappee snuff, and had not the rich blood-lined purple of venison.  His face was wofully meagre, and seemed scored and overlaid with care-marks.  Nevertheless, there was an energetic, nervous, almost humorsome mobility about his mouth; while his little beady black eyes, quick, warm, scintillant, had ten times the life one would have expected to find keeping company with his fifty years.  In dress, he was very threadbare, and, sooth to say, not over-clean; yet he was jaunty, and moved with the air of a man much better clad.  I was impressed with his appearance, and especially with his voice, which was vibrant, firm, and excellently intoned.  It is my foible, perhaps, but I am always charmed with bonhommie, I class originality among the cardinal virtues, and I am as eager in the chase after eccentricity as a veteran fox-hunter is in pursuit of Reynard.  M. Cesar promised a compensative proportion of all three qualities, could I only “draw him out”; and besides, he was not like Mr. Canning’s “Knife-Grinder,”—­for, evidently, he had a story to tell.

Observing my scrutiny, he smiled; a singular, ironical smile it was, yet without a particle of bitterness or of cynicism.

“Eh, bien!” said he; “you stare, Monsieur! you sink me an excentrique.  Vraiment!  I am use to zat,—­I am use to have persons smile reeseeblement, to tap zere fronts, an’ spek of ze strait-jackets.  Never fear,—­I am toujours harmless!  Mais, Monsieur, it is true, vat I tell you:  I am ze origi_nal_ inventeur of ze Atlantic Telegraph!  You mus’ not comprehend me, Sare, to intend somesing vat persons call ze Telegraph,—­such like ze Electric Telegraph of Monsieur Morse,—­a vulgaire sing of ze vire and ze acid.  Mon Dieu, non! far more perfect,—­far more grrand,—­far more original! Ze acid may burn ze finger,—­ze vire vill become rrusty,—­ze isolation subject always to ze atmosphere.  Ah, bah!  Vat make you in zat event?  As ze pure lustre of ze diamant of Golconde to ze distorted rays of a morsel of bottle-glass, so my grrand invention to ze modes of ze telegraph in vogue at present!”

“Monsieur, you shall tell me about it,” said I, pointing to a seat on the other side of the table; “sit down there, and tell me about your invention, and in your native language,—­that is, if you can spare the time to do so, and to drink a glass of Bordeaux with me.”

He accepted my invitation as a gentleman would, sipped his wine like a connoisseur, passed me a few compliments, such as any French gentleman might toss to you, if you had asked him to join you in a glass of wine in one of his city’s cafes, and then proceeded with his story.  My translation gives but a faint echo of the impression made upon me by his life, vigor, and originality; but still I have striven to do him as little injustice as possible.