The Life of the Fly 



the mayor and his deputy, the school-inspector 

 and the pick of the staff. The minister faced 

 the ceremonial semicircle. I stood next to him. 

 A crowd on one side, we two on the other. 

 Followed the regulation spinal contortions, the 

 empty obeisances which my dear Duruy had 

 come to my laboratory to forget. When bow- 

 ing to St. Roch,^ in his corner niche, the wor- 

 shipper at the same time salutes the saint's 

 humble companion. I was something like St. 

 Roch's dog in the presence of those honours 

 which did not concern me. I stood and looked 

 on, with my awful red hands concealed behind 

 my back, under the broad brim of my felt hat. 



After the official compliments had been ex- 

 changed, the conversation began to languish ; 

 and the minister seized my right hand and 

 gently drew it from the mysterious recesses of 

 my wide-awake. 



'Why don't you show those gentlemen your 

 hands?' he said. 'Most people would be 

 proud of them.' 



I vainly protested with a jerk of the elbow. 

 I had to comply and I displayed my lobster- 

 claws. 



'St. Roch (1295-1327) is always represented in his 

 statues with the dog that saved his life by discovering 

 him in the solitude where, after curing the plague-stricken 

 Italians, he had hidden himself lest he should communi- 

 cate the pestilence to others. — Translator's Note. 

 462 



