coffee, saying that this and ice were the only two luxuries for which he cared.  St. Pierre happened to have brought some from the Isle of Bourbon, so on the following day he rashly sent Rousseau a small packet, which at first produced a polite letter of thanks; but the day after the letter of thanks came one of harsh protest against the ignominy of receiving presents which could not be returned, and bidding the unfortunate donor to choose between taking his coffee back or never seeing his new friend again.  A fair bargain was ultimately arranged, St. Pierre receiving in exchange for his coffee some curious root or other, and a book on ichthyology.  Immediately afterwards he went to dine with his sage.  He arrived at eleven in the forenoon, and they conversed until half-past twelve.

Then his wife laid the cloth.  He took a bottle of wine, and as he put it on the table, asked whether we should have enough, or if I was fond of drinking.  “How many are there of us,” said I.  “Three,” he said; “you, my wife, and myself.”  “Well,” I went on, “when I drink wine and am alone, I drink a good half-bottle, and I drink a trifle more when I am with friends.”  “In that case,” he answered, “we shall not have enough; I must go down into the cellar.”  He brought up a second bottle.  His wife served two dishes, one of small tarts, and another which was covered.  He said, showing me the first, “That is your dish and the other is mine.”  “I don’t eat much pastry,” I said, “but I hope to be allowed to taste what you have got.”  “Oh, they are both common,” he replied; “but most people don’t care for this.  ’Tis a Swiss dish; a compound of lard, mutton, vegetables, and chestnuts.”  It was excellent.  After these two dishes, we had slices of beef in salad; then biscuits and cheese; after which his wife served the coffee.

* * * * *

One morning when I was at his house, I saw various domestics either coming for rolls of music, or bringing them to him to copy.  He received them standing and uncovered.  He said to some, “The price is so much,” and received the money; to others, “How soon must I return my copy?” “My mistress would like to have it back in a fortnight.”  “Oh, that’s out of the question:  I have work, I can’t do it in less than three weeks.”  I inquired why he did not take his talents to better market.  “Ah,” he answered, “there are two Rousseaus in the world; one rich, or who might have been if he had chosen; a man capricious, singular, fantastic; this is the Rousseau of the public; the other is obliged to work for his living, the Rousseau whom you see."[393]

They often took long rambles together, and all proceeded most harmoniously, unless St. Pierre offered to pay for such refreshment as they might take, when a furious explosion was sure to follow.  Here is one more picture, without explosion.

     An Easter Monday Excursion to Mont Valerien.