He went out on that, feeling a degradation in continuing the subject.

The days that followed were unhappy days for him, and for at least one other.  That other was Leandre, who was cast into the profoundest dejection by M. de La Tour d’Azyr’s assiduous attendance upon Climene.  The Marquis was to be seen at every performance; a box was perpetually reserved for him, and invariably he came either alone or else with his cousin M. de Chabrillane.

On Tuesday of the following week, Andre-Louis went out alone early in the morning.  He was out of temper, fretted by an overwhelming sense of humiliation, and he hoped to clear his mind by walking.  In turning the corner of the Place du Bouffay he ran into a slightly built, sallow-complexioned gentleman very neatly dressed in black, wearing a tie-wig under a round hat.  The man fell back at sight of him, levelling a spy-glass, then hailed him in a voice that rang with amazement.

“Moreau!  Where the devil have you been hiding your-self these months?”

It was Le Chapelier, the lawyer, the leader of the Literary Chamber of Rennes.

“Behind the skirts of Thespis,” said Scaramouche.

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t intend that you should.  What of yourself, Isaac?  And what of the world which seems to have been standing still of late?”

“Standing still!” Le Chapelier laughed.  “But where have you been, then?  Standing still!” He pointed across the square to a café under the shadow of the gloomy prison.  “Let us go and drink a bavaroise.  You are of all men the man we want, the man we have been seeking everywhere, and — behold! — you drop from the skies into my path.”

They crossed the square and entered the café.

“So you think the world has been standing still!  Dieu de Dieu!  I suppose you haven’t heard of the royal order for the convocation of the States General, or the terms of them — that we are to have what we demanded, what you demanded for us here in Nantes!  You haven’t heard that the order has gone forth for the primary elections — the elections of the electors.  You haven’t heard of the fresh uproar in Rennes, last month.  The order was that the three estates should sit together at the States General of the bailliages, but in the bailliage of Rennes the nobles must ever be recalcitrant.  They took up arms actually — six hundred of them with their valetaille, headed by your old friend M. de La Tour d’Azyr, and they were for slashing us — the members of the Third Estate — into ribbons so as to put an end to our insolence.”  He laughed delicately.  “But, by God, we showed them that we, too, could take up arms.  It was what you yourself advocated here in Nantes, last November.  We fought them a pitched battle in the streets, under the leadership of your namesake Moreau, the provost, and we so peppered them that they were glad to take shelter in the Cordelier Convent.  That is the end of their resistance to the royal authority and the people’s will.”