'He drained his glass and returned to his twirling."No, no; one does not die of it," he pronounced finally,and when I found he did not mean to proceed with the personal anecdote, I was extremely disappointed; the more so as it was not the sort of story, you know, one could very well press him for. I sat silent, and he too, as if nothing could please him better. Even his thumbs were still now. Suddenly his lips began to move. "That is so," he resumed placidly. "Man is born a coward (L'homme est ne poltron). It is a difficulty—parbleu! It would be too easy other vise. But habit—habit—necessity—do you see?—the eye of others—voila. One puts up with it. And then the example of others who are no better than yourself, and yet make good countenance...."