"There is the window, but it's fastened; and beside, we are in the fourth story. Ah, now I understand all these precautions."
"What do you think of my first chapter?" asked Carolus. "Do not spare any criticism, I beg of you."
Rodolphe thought he remembered having heard some scraps of philosophical declamation upon suicide, put forth by the hero of the romance, Don Lopez, to wit; so he replied at hazard:
"The grand figure of Don Lopez is conscientiously studied; it reminds me of 'Savoyard Vicar's Confession of Faith;' the description of Don Alvar's mule pleases me exceedingly; it is like a sketch of Gericault's. There are good lines in the landscape; as to the thoughts, they are seeds of Rousseau planted in the soil of Lesage. Only allow me to make one observation: you use too many stops, and you work the word henceforward too hard. It is a good word, and gives color, but should not be abused."
Carolus took up a second pile of paper, and repeated the title "Don Lopez or, Fatality."
"I knew a Don Lopez once," said Rodolphe. "He used to sell cigarettes and Bayonne chocolate. Perhaps he was a relative of your man. Go on."
At the conclusion of the second chapter, the poet interrupted his host:
"Don't you feel your throat a little dry?" he inquired.
"Not at all," replied Carolus. "We are coming to the history of Inesilla."
"I am very curious to hear it, nevertheless, if you are tired—"