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Rh but not very vigorously. Stop, I beg of you. If your parents were to see you?"

But he began to laugh:

"My parents! Oh! my parents, you know,—I have supped on them."

This was a phrase that he was continually using. When one asked him anything, he answered: "I have supped on that." And he had supped on everything.

To gain a little time I asked him:

"There is one thing that puzzles me, Monsieur Xavier. How does it happen that one never sees you at Madame's dinners?"

"You certainly don't expect me, my dear . . . oh! no, you know, Madame's dinners tire me too much."

"And how is it,” insisted, " that your room is the only one in the house in which there is not a picture of the pope?"

This observation flattered him. He answered:

"Why, my little baby, I am an Anarchist, I Religion, the Jesuits, the priests,—oh! no, I have enough of them. I have supped on them. A society made up of people like papa and mamma? Oh! you know . . . none of that in mine, thank you!"

Now I felt at ease with M. Xavier, in whom I found, together with the same vices, the drawling accent of the Paris toughs. It seemed to me that I