The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



Not a bit of it. Behold the bugbear growing 

 genial. He sits down on a bench, with one leg 

 here, another there, invites me to take a seat by his 

 side and, in a moment, we are discussing graphics. 

 Then, bluntly: 



"Have you any money?" he asks. 



Astounded at this strange question, I answer with 

 a smile. 



" Don't be afraid," he says. " Confide in me. 

 I'm asking you in your own interest. Have you 

 any capital ? " 



" I have no reason to be ashamed of my poverty, 

 Monsieur I'inspecteur general. I frankly admit, 

 I possess nothing ; my means are limited to my mod- 

 est salary." 



A frown greets my answer; and I hear, spoken 

 in an undertone, as though my confessor were talk- 

 ing to himself: 



" That's sad, that's really very sad." 



Astonished to find my penury treated as sad, I 

 ask for an explanation: I was not accustomed to 

 this solicitude on the part of my superiors. 



" Why, yes, it's a great pity," continues the man 

 reputed so terrible. " I have read your articles in 

 the Annales des sciences naturelles. You have an 

 observant mind, a taste for research, a lively style 

 and a ready pen. You would have made a capital 

 university-professor." 



"But that's just what I'm aiming at!" 



" Give up the idea." 



*' Haven't I the necessary attainment ? " 

 * Yes, you have ; but you have no capital." 

 I88 



