"Our quondam wine merchant, who is not easily abashed, began to laugh as he replied:
"'Pardieu! it is you I want, neighbor, for I am sure that you are the master of the house. I am Luminot, a land-owner at Chelles, a bon vivant, always staunch at the table, always ready to let my friends taste my wine, which is not bad, I flatter myself. You don't go to see anybody, you keep yourself shut up here like a bear in his den; that's not the way to enjoy yourself! and I have come to ask you to dine with me to-morrow.'
"'I thank you, monsieur,' replied the man with the dog, 'but, as I entertain no one here, I do not go to other people's houses.'—And with that he shut the gate in his face.
"Then it became Monsieur Luminot's turn to feel angry; he came home shouting as loudly as Madame Droguet had:
"'Who in the devil is this fellow that's bought the Tower? The man's worse than a savage! I undertake to be polite to him, to invite him to dinner, and he shuts the door in my face without letting me cross the threshold, without even asking me to sit down and take something! I could have forgiven him for declining my invitation, but he might at least have given me a taste of his wine! Decidedly he's a devilish mean kind of a neighbor.'
"This, mesdames, is the way that people learned to know this eccentric personage; it only remains for me to tell you of my personal experience.
"A year had passed since these incidents, and people were beginning to talk a little less about the proprietor of the Tower—for we become accustomed to everything, and by dint of discussing any one person there comes a time when we have nothing more to say—when, as I was returning one day from Gournay, where I had been to see a patient, I met Mère Lucas, the old woman who composed the whole of Monsieur Paul's establishment. I was passing her without stopping, but she accosted me, saying:
"'Oh! I am glad I met you, Monsieur le Docteur Antoine Beaubichon; it's as if Providence sent you on purpose, for I was just thinking that I'd have to go to your house.'
"'Do you want to consult me, Mère Lucas?' said I; 'are you sick? what's the matter with you?'
"'No, monsieur le docteur, I'm not sick; to be sure I'm not very strong, but the cracked pots last longer than the new ones sometimes, you know. It isn't for myself that I was going to see you, but for my master, Monsieur Paul; he's sick, hasn't left his bed for two whole weeks, and he must be feeling very bad, for he's a man that don't take any care of himself, and I had hard work to get him to drink some herb tea.'