just like everybody else. He is neither large nor small, handsome nor ugly, developed like a Hercules nor spindled like a dandy, but, maintaining the happy medium throughout, unobtrusive from head to foot, hair of no particular color, and mind and clothes of the same. When he entered M. Auvray's house, he seemed very much agitated; he walked up and down apparently in a rage, would not keep still anywhere, looked at twenty things at once, and would have handled them all if his hands had not been tied.
"Calm yourself," said his uncle; "what I'm doing is for your good. You'll be happy here, and the doctor will cure you."
"I'm not sick. Why have you tied me?"
"Because you would have thrown me out of the carriage. You're not in your right mind, my poor François; M. Auvray will restore you."
"I reason as clearly as you do, uncle, and I don't know what you're talking about. My mind is clear, my judgment sound, and my memory excellent. Would you like me to repeat some verses? Shall I translate some Latin? Here's a Tacitus in this bookcase. . . . If you would prefer a different experiment, I can solve a problem in Arithmetic or Geometry. . . . You don't care to have me? Very well! Listen to what we have done this morning:
"You came in at eight o'clock, not to wake me, for I was not asleep, but to get me out of
