“Yes, yes! but that’s in the lower ranks,” replied Corentin, resuming his walk; “there’s always a muddy place somewhere.  Still, don’t be mistaken even in that.  Vautrin is a man of genius, but his passions, like those of your uncle, dragged him down.  But go up higher (for there lies the whole question, namely, the rung of the ladder on which a man has wits enough to perch).  Take the prefect, for instance, that honored minister, flattered and respected, is he a spy?  Well, I, monsieur, am the prefect of the secret police of diplomacy—­of the highest statesmanship.  And you hesitate to mount that throne!—­to seem small and do great things; to live in a cave comfortably arranged like this, and command the light; to have at your orders an invisible army, always ready, always devoted, always submissive; to know the other side of everything; to be duped by no intrigue because you hold the threads of all within your fingers; to see through all partitions; to penetrate all secrets, search all hearts, all consciences,—­these are the things you fear!  And yet you were not afraid to go and wallow in a Thuillier bog; you, a thoroughbred, allowed yourself to be harnessed to a hackney-coach, to the ignoble business of electing that parvenu bourgeois.”

“A man does what he can,” said la Peyrade.

“Here’s a very remarkable thing,” pursued Corentin, replying to his own thought; “the French language, more just than public opinion, has given us our right place, for it has made the word police the synonym of civilization and the antipodes of savage life, when it said and wrote:  ‘l’Etat police,’ from the Greek words state and city.  So, I can assure you, we care little for the prejudice that tries to brand us; none know men as we do; and to know them brings contempt for their contempt as well as for their esteem.”

“There is certainly much truth in what you say with such warmth,” said la Peyrade, finally.

“Much truth!” exclaimed Corentin, going back to his chair, “say, rather, that it is all true, and nothing but the truth; yet it is not the whole truth.  But enough for to-day, monsieur.  To succeed me in my functions, and to marry your cousin with a ‘dot’ that will not be less than five hundred thousand francs, that is my offer.  I do not ask you for an answer now.  I should have no confidence in a determination not seriously reflected upon.  To-morrow, I shall be at home all the morning.  I trust that my conviction may then have formed yours.”

Dismissing his visitor with a curt little bow, he added:  “I do not bid you adieu, but au revoir, Monsieur de la Peyrade.”

Whereupon Corentin went to a side-table, where he found all that he needed to prepare a glass of “eau sucree,” which he had certainly earned, and, without looking at la Peyrade, who left the room rather stunned, he seemed to have no other interest on his mind than that prosaic preparation.