"I know some one who has not been injured by your bit of good fortune."
"Who, monsieur?"
"Alexandre Dumas, the author of the Impressions de Voyage."
Jacotot's face became discomposed.
"Alexandre Dumas," he repeated.
"Yes."
"Is it because he said I had a stupid face?" exclaimed Jacotot, slamming the door violently as he went into his house.
The traveller had paid his farewell call on Jacotot, for, from that moment, if Jacotot caught sight of him on one side, he turned away in another direction.
In the same country I have a third enemy, very much more serious than the two others, and for a thing of almost as little importance, and he is His Majesty Charles-Albert, King of Sardinia. During my sojourn at Aix I made two excursions: one to Chambéry and the other to the Dent du Chat. Both were made noteworthy: one by an act of great imprudence, the other by a serious accident; imprudence and accident would probably have passed over unnoticed had I not pointed them out in those fatal Impressions de Voyage. The imprudence was to go into the capital of Savoy wearing grey hats, as my companions and I did. You will ask, dear readers, what imprudence there was in wearing grey hats instead of black felt ones. There would have been none in 1833, but it was very unwise in 1832; and here is an extract of a few lines from my Impressions de Voyage—