the Frenchmen did the same thing. The one next me was a Dr. Morin, a very small man, with a big bumpy forehead and little glittering eyes, who talked volubly, and made every one laugh—every one except the professor opposite; I observed he never laughed at anything Dr. Morin said. The latter was extremely attentive to me, and tried to make me talk by asking all manner of questions, which I thought forward, and showed him that I thought so by my manner; but it was of no use. I felt that I was a sort of rock over which the torrent poured; it was in no degree stemmed or diverted from its course. I disliked him less than any one else; that is the most I can say. How weary I was, how sick of it all, before dinner was over, and I could escape to my own room! On my left hand sat an American, named Baring, with ginger-coloured hair and beard. I saw nothing but his profile, as he never addressed a word to me, or even turned his head in my direction. He took no part in the general conversation, much of which was lively, to judge by the peals of laughter (for I did not understand a great deal of it); and what with his thinness and his silence, he made me feel as I were sitting next to that proverbial skeleton which has done such long and arduous service since the feast of the Egyptians! His sister was next him—a very plain little woman, badly dressed, with hair that looks as if the chickens had been scratching it. How I hate ugly people! And the two good-looking one here are not attractive to me. No one but Madame de Belcour and Monsieur Doucet has a pretension to good looks. Further down the table sat a jovial young student named Bertrand, who laughed very loud; an old Madame
