“I met an interesting man today,” my husband announces as we get ready for bed. “Oh?” “Yes.  He was staring at me.” “Everyone stares at you,” I say.  “You’re famous.” “This man was different,” he insists.  “A priest.  I asked him, ‘Who is this good man looking at me?’  ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘you are looking at a good man, and I at a great one.  May we both be the better for it.’”  He pauses.  “I made him a bishop.” “Mm,” I say.  “Come to bed.” He obliges, asks, “Josephine?  Do you think I did right?” “Go to sleep, Napoleon.”