“But ‘Mossie’ Phellion,” replied Theodose, “is a writer; and inasmuch as you have consulted him, I don’t see why you can’t engage him to finish the work in which, for my part, I have resolved not to co-operate any longer.”

“Heavens! what temper!” cried Thuillier; “here you are furious just because I seemed to question a word and then consulted some one.  You know very well that I have read passages to Phellion, Colleville, Minard, and Barniol as if the work were mine, in order to see the effect it would produce upon the public; but that’s no reason why I should be willing to give my name to the things they are capable of writing.  Do you wish me to give you a proof of the confidence I have in you?  Madame la Comtesse de Godollo, to whom I read a few pages last night, told me that the pamphlet was likely to get me into trouble with the authorities; but I wouldn’t allow what she said to have any influence upon me.”

“Well,” said la Peyrade, “I think that the oracle of the family sees the matter clearly; and I’ve no desire to bring your head to the scaffold.”

“All that is nonsense,” said Thuillier.  “Have you, or have you not, an intention to leave me in the lurch?”

“Literary questions make more quarrels among friends than political questions,” replied Theodose.  “I wish to put an end to these discussions between us.”

“But, my dear Theodose, never have I assumed to be a literary man.  I think I have sound common-sense, and I say out my ideas; you can’t be angry at that; and if you play me this trick, and refuse to collaborate any longer, it is because you have some other grudge against me that I know nothing about.”

“I don’t see why you call it a trick.  There’s nothing easier for you than not to write a pamphlet; you’ll simply be Jerome Thuillier, as before.”

“And yet it was you yourself who declared that this publication would help my election; besides, I repeat, I have read passages to all our friends, I have announced the matter in the municipal council, and if the work were not to appear I should be dishonored; people would be sure to say the government had bought me up.”

“You have only to say that you are the friend of Phellion, the incorruptible; that will clear you.  You might even give Celeste to his booby of a son; that alliance would certainly protect you from all suspicion.”

“Theodose,” said Thuillier, “there is something in your mind that you don’t tell me.  It is not natural that for a simple quarrel about a word you should wish to lose a friend like me.”

“Well, yes, there is,” replied la Peyrade, with the air of a man who makes up his mind to speak out.  “I don’t like ingratitude.”

“Nor I either; I don’t like it,” said Thuillier, hotly; “and if you accuse me of so base an action, I summon you to explain yourself.  We must get out of these hints and innuendoes.  What do you complain of?  What have you against a man whom only a few days ago you called your friend?”