“Are you blind and deaf?” said the workman whose business it was to warn the passers, in a tone of amenity it is easy to imagine.

“Thank you, my dear friend,” said la Peyrade, recalled to earth.  “I should certainly have been crushed like an idiot if it hadn’t been for you.”

And he pressed Phellion’s hand.

“My reward,” replied the latter, “lies in the satisfaction of knowing that you are saved from an imminent peril.  And I may say that that satisfaction is mingled, for me, with a certain pride; for I was not mistaken by a single second in the calculation which enabled me to foresee the exact moment when that formidable mass would be displaced from its centre of gravity.  But what were you thinking of, my dear monsieur?  Probably of the plea you are about to make in the Thuillier affair.  The public prints have informed me of the danger of prosecution by the authorities which hangs above the head of our estimable friend.  You have a noble cause to defend, monsieur.  Habituated as I am, through my labors as a member of the reading committee of the Odeon, to judge of works of intellect, and with my hand upon my conscience, I declare that after reading the incriminated passages, I can find nothing in the tone of that pamphlet which justifies the severe measures of which it is the object.  Between ourselves,” added the great citizen, lowering his voice, “I think the government has shown itself petty.”

“So I think,” said la Peyrade, “but I am not employed for the defence.  I have advised Thuillier to engage some noted lawyer.”

“It may be good advice,” said Phellion; “at any rate, it speaks well for your modesty.  Poor man!  I went to him at once when the blow fell, but I did not see him; I saw only Brigitte, who was having a discussion with Madame de Godollo.  There is a woman with strong political views; it seems she predicted that the seizure would be made.”

“Did you know that the countess had left Paris?” said la Peyrade, rushing at the chance of speaking on the subject of his present monomania.

“Ah! left Paris, has she?” said Phellion.  “Well, monsieur, I must tell you that, although there was not much sympathy between us, I regard her departure as a misfortune.  She will leave a serious void in the salon of our friends.  I say this, because it is my belief, and I am not in the habit of disguising my convictions.”

“Yes,” said la Peyrade, “she is certainly a very distinguished woman, with whom in spite of her prejudice against me, I think I should have come to an understanding.  But this morning, without leaving any word as to where she was going, she started suddenly with post-horses.”

“Post-horses!” said Phellion.  “I don’t know whether you will agree with me, monsieur, but I think that travelling by post is a most agreeable method of conveyance.  Certainly Louis XI., to whom we owe the institution, had a fortunate inspiration in the matter; although, on the other hand, his sanguinary and despotic government was not, to my humble thinking, entirely devoid of reproach.  Once only in my life have I used that method of locomotion, and I can truly say I found it far superior, in spite of its inferior relative rapidity, to the headlong course of what in England are called railways; where speed is attained only at the price of safety.”