The Professor: Avignon 



having obtained the needed information re- 

 specting the silk-worm from the Avignon 

 naturalist, he suddenly asked him to show 

 him his cellar. Fabre found the request ex- 

 tremely embarrassing: 



To show him my cellar! My private cellar! 

 And I, poor wretch, but a while ago, with my pre- 

 posterous professor's salary, could not even permit 

 myself the expense of a drop of wine, so that I 

 used to make myself a sort of rough cider, by plac- 

 ing a jar, to ferment, a handful of brown sugar and 

 some grated apples! My cellar! Show him my 

 cellar! Why not my tuns of wine, my dusty bot- 

 tles, labelled according to age and vintage! My 

 cellar ! 



Completely confused, I tried to evade his re- 

 quest, to change the subject. But he was tena- 

 cious. 



" Show me your cellar, I beg you." 



There was no possibility of resisting such in- 

 sistence. 



With my finger I pointed to a corner of the 

 kitchen where there was a chair without a seat, 

 and on the chair a demijohn holding a couple of 

 gallons. 



"There's my cellar, monsieur!" 



"Your cellar? That?" 



11 1 have no other." 



"That's all?" 



"Alas, yes. That's all!" 



167 



