One day he said to me, with an air of triumph, “I have just bought the first edition of one of my own books. This fact of its being the first edition, however, does not add much to the value of the book; but these ‘Lettres sur le Nord’ have shivered so long in the box, and have spent so many weeks in the same place, that I took pity on them.”
Then Marmier told me with provincial gaiety that the seller—a gamin who, strangely enough, did not know him—had asked him two francs for the copy.
“Two francs!” exclaimed Marmier.
“Yes, sir; that is what it is worth. It is by Marmier.”
“Hum! hum! I know that it is by Marmier, but that does not make it worth two francs.”
“But, sir, he is an Academician.”
“]Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, sir; it says so on the cover.”
“But has he not been dead a long time?”
“That I do not know, but it is possible that he has.”