“What I have said to you is very cheerful!  A thousand pardons.  The more so that I do not think of doubting you for a single moment—­You have always been credulous.  That is your defect, and it is a capital one.  In the world of business men and politicians, who are for the most part egotists, of mediocrities, or to speak plainly—­I know no more picturesque term—­of dodgers,—­you move about with all the illusions and tastes of an artist.  You are like the brave fellows of our army, poets of war, as it were, who hurled themselves to their destruction against regiments of engineers.  Certainly, my dear minister, I shall always be delighted to give you my counsel, you whom I used to call my dear child, and if the observations of a living waif can serve you in anything, count on me.  Dispose of me, and if by chance I can be useful to you, I shall feel myself amply repaid.”

“Ah!” cried Sulpice, “if you only knew how much good it does me to hear the sincere thoughts of a man one can rely on!  How different is their ring from that of others!”

He then allowed himself to pass by an easy transition to the confessions of his first deceptions or annoyances.

The selection that very morning, of Warcolier as Under Secretary of State in a Republican administration, a man who had played charades at Compiegne, had thrown him into a state of angry excitement.

Ramel, however, burst into laughter.

“Ah, nonsense!  You will see many other such!  Why, governments always do favors to their enemies when their opponents pretend to lower their colors!  What good is it to serve friends?  They love you.”

“This does not vex you, then, old Republican?”

“I, an old soldier grown white in harness,” said Ramel, whose moustache still played under his smile, “that doesn’t disturb my peace in the least.  I comfort myself with the thought that my dream, my ideal, to use a trite expression, is not touched by such absurdities, and I am persuaded that progress does not lag and that the cause of liberty gains ground, in spite of so much injustice and folly.  I confess, however, that I sometimes feel the strange emotion that a man might experience on seeing, after the lapse of years, the lovely woman whom he loved to distraction at twenty, in the arms of a person whom he did not particularly respect.”

Ramel had lighted his pipe, and half-hidden by the bluish wreaths of smoke, chatted away, quite happy on his side to give himself up to the revelation of the secret of his heart without the least bitterness, and like an elder brother, advised this man, who was still young and whom he had compared formerly to one of those too fine pieces of porcelain that the least shock would crack.

“Ah!” he said abruptly, “above all, my dear Vaudrey, do not fear to appear in the tribune more uncouth and assertive than you really are.  In times when the word sympathetic becomes an insult, it is wiser to have the manners of a boor.  Tact is a good thing.”