"Who can think of a poet without a muse!" "He would be without a heart," replied Canalis.

"He would write barren verses like Voltaire, who never loved any one but Voltaire." "I thought you did me the honor to say, in Paris," interrupted Dumay, "that you never felt the sentiments you expressed." "The shoe fits, my soldier," replied the poet, smiling; "but let me tell you that it is quite possible to have a great deal of feeling both in the intellectual life and in real life.

My good friend here, La Briere, is madly in love," continued Canalis, with a fine show of generosity, looking at Modeste.

"I, who certainly love as much as he,--that is, I think so unless I delude myself,--well, I can give to my love a literary form in harmony with its character.

But I dare not say, mademoiselle," he added, turning to Modeste with too studied a grace, "that to-morrow I may not be without inspiration." Thus the poet triumphed over all obstacles.