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alluded--but this was by no means the case. Indeed to say the truth,
that trait of mind in the philosophic Bon-Bon did begin at length to
assume a character of strange intensity and mysticism, and appeared
deeply tinctured with the diablerie of his favorite German studies.
To enter the little Cafe in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre was, at the period
of our tale, to enter the sanctum of a man of genius. Bon-Bon was a man
of genius. There was not a sous-cusinier in Rouen, who could not have
told you that Bon-Bon was a man of genius. His very cat knew it, and
forebore to whisk her tail in the presence of the man of genius. His
large water-dog was acquainted with the fact, and upon the approach
of his master, betrayed his sense of inferiority by a sanctity of
deportment, a debasement of the ears, and a dropping of the lower jaw
not altogether unworthy of a dog. It is, however, true that much of this
habitual respect might have been attributed to the personal appearance
of the metaphysician. A distinguished exterior will, I am constrained to
say, have its way even with a beast; and I am willing to allow much
in the outward man of the restaurateur calculated to impress the
imagination of the quadruped. There is a peculiar majesty about the
atmosphere of the little great--if I may be permitted so equivocal an
expression--which mere physical bulk alone will be found at all times
inefficient in creating. If, however, Bon-Bon was barely three feet in
height, and if his head was diminutively small, still it was impossible
to behold the rotundity of his stomach without a sense of magnificence
nearly bordering upon the sublime. In its size both dogs and men
must have seen a type of his acquirements--in its immensity a fitting
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