What then is represented by the faselus of the Georgics, that problematical vegetable which has transmitted its name to the haricot in the Latin tongues?  Remembering that the contemptuous epithet vilis is used by the poet in qualification, I am strongly inclined to regard it as the cultivated vetch, the big square pea, the little-valued jaisso of the Provencal peasant.

The problem of the haricot stood thus, almost elucidated by the testimony of the insect world alone, when an unexpected witness gave me the last word of the enigma.  It was once again a poet, and a famous poet, M. Jose-Maria de Heredia, who came to the aid of the naturalist.  Without suspecting the service he was rendering, a friend of mine, the village schoolmaster, lent me a magazine[9] in which I read the following conversation between the master-sonneteer and a lady journalist, who was anxious to know which of his own works he preferred.

“What would you have me say?” said the poet.

“I do not know what to say, I do not know which sonnet I prefer; I have taken horrible pains with all of them....  But you, which do you prefer?”

“My dear master, how can I choose out of so many jewels, when each one is perfect in its beauty?  You flash pearls, emeralds, and rubies before my astonished eyes:  how should I decide to prefer the emerald to the pearl?  I am transported by admiration of the whole necklace.”

“Well, as for me, there is something I am more proud of than of all my sonnets, and which has done much more for my reputation than my verses.”

I opened my eyes wide, “What is that?” I asked.  The master looked at me mischievously; then, with that beautiful light in his eyes which fires his youthful countenance, he said triumphantly—­

“It is my discovery of the etymology of the word haricot!”

I was so amazed that I forgot to laugh.

“I am perfectly serious in telling you this.”

“I know, my dear master, of your reputation for profound scholarship:  but to imagine, on that account, that you were famed for your discovery of the etymology of haricot—­I should never have expected it!  Will you tell me how you made the discovery?”

“Willingly.  See now:  I found some information respecting the haricot while studying that fine seventeenth-century work of natural history by Hernandez:  De Historia plantarum novi orbis.  The word haricot was unknown in France until the seventeenth century:  people used the word feve or phaseol:  in Mexican, ayacot.  Thirty species of haricot were cultivated in Mexico before the conquest.  They are still known as ayacot, especially the red haricot, spotted with black or violet.  One day at the house of Gaston Paris I met a famous scholar.  Hearing my name, he rushed at me and asked if it was I who had discovered the etymology of the word haricot.  He was absolutely ignorant of the fact that I had written verses and published the Trophees.”—­