On this his Mentor smoothed him down, despising him secretly for not seeing that a book is a matter of trade and nothing else.

It ended in Aubertin going to Paris to hatch his Phoenix.

He had not been there a week, when a small deputation called on him, and informed him he had been elected honorary member of a certain scientific society.

The compliment was followed by others, till at last certain ladies, with the pliancy of their sex, find out they had always secretly cared for butterflies.

Then the naturalist smelt a rat, or, in other words, began to scent that entomology, a form of idiocy in a poor man, is a graceful decoration of the intellect in a rich one.
Philosopher without bile, he saw through this, and let it amuse, not shock him.