vincial accent, which Hyacinth believed to be that of Lancashire. This didn't suggest cleverness, but it didn't prevent Hyacinth from perceiving that he was the reverse of stupid, that he probably, indeed, had a tremendous head. Our little hero had a great desire to know superior people, and he interested himself on the spot in this strong, humorous fellow, who had the complexion of a ploughboy and the glance of a commander-in-chief and who might have been (Hyacinth thought) a distinguished young savant in the disguise of an artisan. The disguise would have been very complete, for he had several brown stains on his fingers. Hyacinth's curiosity, on this occasion, was both excited and gratified; for after two or three allusions, which he didn't understand, had been made to a certain place where Poupin and the stranger had met and expected to meet again, Madame Poupin exclaimed that it was a shame not to take in M. Hyacinthe, who, she would answer for it, had in him the making of one of the pure.
'All in good time, in good time, ma bonne,' the invalid replied. 'M. Hyacinthe knows that I count upon him, whether or no I make him an interne to-day or wait a while longer.'
'What do you mean by an interne?' Hyacinth asked.
'Mon Dieu, what shall I say!' and Eustache Poupin stared at him solemnly, from his pillow. 'You are very sympathetic, but I am afraid you are too young.'
'One is never too young to contribute one's obole.' said Madame Poupin.
'Can you keep a secret?' asked the other visitor, smilingly.
'Is it a plot—a conspiracy?' Hyacinth broke out.
'He asks that as if he were asking if it's a plum-pudding,'
