THE FRAGMENT. PARIS.
La Fleur had left me something to amuse myself with for the day
more than I had bargain'd for, or could have enter'd either into
his head or mine.
He had brought the little print of butter upon a currant leaf: and
as the morning was warm, and he had a good step to bring it, he had
begg'd a sheet of waste paper to put betwixt the currant leaf and
his hand. - As that was plate sufficient, I bade him lay it upon the
table as it was; and as I resolved to stay within all day, I
ordered him to call upon the traiteur, to bespeak my dinner, and
leave me to breakfast by myself.
When I had finished the butter, I threw the currant-leaf out of the
window, and was going to do the same by the waste paper; - but
stopping to read a line first, and that drawing me on to a second
and third, - I thought it better worth; so I shut the window, and
drawing a chair up to it, I sat down to read it.
It was in the old French of Rabelais's time, and for aught I know
might have been wrote by him: - it was moreover in a Gothic letter,
and that so faded and gone off by damps and length of time, it cost
me infinite trouble to make anything of it.
