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"
M. le Marquis shifted in his chair, and spoke at last.
"You have, monsieur," said he, "a very dangerous gift of eloquence.
And it is of yourself rather than of your subject. For after all,
what do you offer me? A rechauffe of the dishes served to
out-at-elbow enthusiasts in the provincial literary chambers,
compounded of the effusions of your Voltaires and Jean-Jacques and
such dirty-fingered scribblers. You have not among all your
philosophers one with the wit to understand that we are an order
consecrated by antiquity, that for our rights and privileges we have
behind us the authority of centuries."
"Humanity, monsieur," Philippe replied, "is more ancient than
nobility. Human rights are contemporary with man."
The Marquis laughed and shrugged.
"That is the answer I might have expected. It has the right note
of cant that distinguishes the philosophers." And then M. de
Chabrillane spoke.
"You go a long way round," he criticized his cousin, on a note of
impatience.
"But I am getting there," he was answered.


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