is quite a history; and I speak of it to Monsieur le directeur because another person in whom Madame de Godollo was interested has his marriage closely mixed up in it.  That other person is Monsieur Felix Phellion, the inventor of a star, who, in despair at not being able to marry that demoiselle whom they wanted to give to the Sieur la Peyrade whom Madame de Godollo made such a fool of—­

“Scoundrel!” said the Provencal, in a parenthesis.  “Is that how he speaks of me?  He doesn’t know who I am.”

Corentin laughed heartily and exhorted his pupil to read on.

—­who, in despair at not being able to marry that demoiselle . . . went to England in order to embark for a journey round the world —­a lover’s notion!  Learning of this departure, Monsieur Picot, his former professor, who took great interest in his pupil, went after him to prevent that nonsense, which turned out not to be difficult.  The English are naturally very jealous of discoveries, and when they saw Monsieur Phellion coming to embark at the heels of their own savants they asked him for his permit from the Admiralty; which, not having been provided, he could not produce; so then they laughed in his face and would not let him embark at all, fearing that he should prove more learned than they.

“He is a fine hand at the ‘entente cordiale,’ your Monsieur Henri,” said la Peyrade, gaily.

“Yes,” replied Corentin; “you will be struck, in the reports of nearly all our agents, with this general and perpetual inclination to calumniate.  But what’s to be done?  For the trade of spies we can’t have angels.”

  Left upon the shore, Telemachus and his mentor—­

“You see our men are lettered,” commented Corentin.

—­Telemachus and his mentor thought best to return to France, and were about to do so when Monsieur Picot received a letter such as none but an Englishwoman could write.  It told him that the writer had read his “Theory of Perpetual Motion,” and had also heard of his magnificent discovery of a star; that she regarded him as a genius only second to Newton, and that if the hand of her who addressed him, joined to eighty thousand pounds sterling—­that is, two millions—­of “dot,” was agreeable to him it was at his disposal.  The first thought of the good man was to make his pupil marry her, but finding that impossible, he told her, before accepting on his own account, that he was old and three-quarters blind, and had never discovered a star, and did not own a penny.  The Englishwoman replied that Milton was not young either, and was altogether blind; that Monsieur Picot seemed to her to have nothing worse than a cataract, for she knew all about it, being the daughter of a great oculist, and she would have him operated upon; that as for the star, she did not care so very much about that; it was the author of the “Theory of Perpetual Motion” who was the man of her dreams, and