“You speak of force, my dear Saniel,” interrupted a voice; “where do you get that—­the force of things, the tatum?  There is no beginning, no will; events decide for us climate, temperament, environment.”

“Then,” replied Saniel, “there is no responsibility, and this instrument conscience, that should decide everything, is good for nothing.  You need not consider consequences.  Success or defeat may yet be immaterial, for the accomplishment of an act that you have believed condemnable may serve the race, while another that you have believed beneficent may prove injurious; from which it follows that intentions only should be judged, and that no one but God can sound human hearts to their depths.”

He began to laugh.

“Do you believe that?  Is that the conclusion at which you have arrived?”

A waiter entered, carrying pitchers of beer on a tray, and the discussion was necessarily interrupted, every one drawing up to the table where Crozat filled the glasses, and the conversation took a more private turn.

Saniel shook hands with Brigard, who received him somewhat coldly; then he approached Glady with the manifest intention of detaining him, but Glady had said that he was obliged to leave, so Saniel said that he could remain no longer, and had only dropped in on passing.

When they were both gone Brigard turned to Crozat and Nougarede, who were near him, and declared that Saniel made him uneasy.

“He believes himself stronger than life,” he said, “because he is sound and intelligent.  He must take care that he does not go too far!”

CHAPTER II

THE RICH MAN’S REFUSAL

When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a mirror.

“The walking is good,” Saniel remarked.

“It will rain again,” responded Glady, looking at the sky.

“I think not.”  It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel.

“Do you know,” he said, “that you have wounded Brigard?”

“I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there.”

“To deny is not to discuss.”

“You say that as if you were angry with me.”

“Not at all.  I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard—­nothing more.”

“That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship for you, if you will permit me to say so.”

But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this turn.

“I think this is an empty cab,” he said, as a fiacre approached them.

“No,” replied Saniel, “I see the light of a cigar through the windowpane.”

Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, who was expecting some such demonstration.