"Eh! What! You here, my dear? You, in a place of ill! You, the drinker
of quintessences! you, the eater of ambrosia! Indeed, this is something
surprising!" "My dear, you know my dread of horses and carriages.
Just now, as I was crossing the boulevard, in great haste, and as I
was hopping about in the mud, in the midst of that moving chaos where
death arrives at a gallop from all sides at once, my halo, in a sudden
start, slipped from my head into the mire of the macadam. I did not
have the courage to pick it up. I thought it less disagreeable to
lose my insignia than to have my bones broken. And then, I reflected,
it's an ill wind that blows, no good. I can now go about incognito,
perform base actions, and give myself over to debauchery, like ordinary
mortals. And here I am, quite like you, as you see!"
"You ought at least have the halo advertised, or asked for at the
police."
"Heavens, no! I am quite well off here. You alone have recognized me.
Besides, dignity was boring. Then, too, I think with joy that some
poor poet will pick it up, and will impudently deck himself out. To
make some one happy, what joy! and especially a happy one that makes me
laugh! Think of X----, or of Z----! Oh! that would be comical!"