“But, really, what did you do all day?”

Marillac posed before the mirror, arranged his kerchief about his head in a more picturesque fashion, twisted his moustache, puffed out, through the corner of his mouth, a cloud of smoke, which surrounded his face like a London fog, then turned to his friend and said, with the air of a person perfectly satisfied with himself: 

“Upon my faith, my dear friend, each one for himself and God for us all!  You, for example, indulge in romantic love-affairs; you must have titled ladies.  Titles turn your head and make you exclusive.  You make love to the aristocracy; so be it, that is your own concern.  As for me, I have another system; I am, in all matters of sentiment, what I am in politics:  I want republican institutions.”

“What is all that nonsense about?”

“Let me tell you.  I want universal suffrage, the cooperation of all citizens, admission to all offices, general elections, a popular government, in a word, a sound, patriotic hash.  Which means regarding women that I carry them all in my heart, that I recognize between them no distinction of caste or rank.  Article First of my set of laws:  all women are equal in love, provided they are young, pretty, admirably attractive in shape and carriage, above all, not too thin.”

“And what of equality?”

“So much the worse.  With this eminently liberal and constitutional policy, I intend to gather all the flowers that will allow themselves to be gathered by me, without one being esteemed more fresh than another, because it belongs to the nobility, or another less sweet, because plebeian.  And as field daisies are a little more numerous than imperial roses, it follows that I very often stoop.  That is the reason why, at this very moment, I am up to my ears in a little rustic love affair: 

        Simple et naive bergerette, elle regne—­”

“Stop that noise; Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s room is just underneath.”

“I will tell you then, since I must give an account of myself, that I went into the park to sketch a few fir-trees before dinner; they are more beautiful of their kind than the ancient Fontainebleau oaks.  That is for art.  At dinner, I dined nobly and well.  To do the Bergenheims justice, they live in a royal manner.  That is for the stomach.  Afterward I stealthily ordered a horse to be saddled and rode to La Fauconnerie in a trice, where I presented the expression of my adoration to Mademoiselle Reine Gobillot, a minor yet, but enjoying her full rights already.  That is for the heart.”

“Indeed!”

“No sarcasm, if you please; not everybody can share your taste for princesses, who make you go a hundred leagues to follow them and then upon your arrival, only give you the tip of a glove to kiss.  Such intrigues are not to my fancy.

          Je suis sergent,
          Brave—­”

“Again, I say, will you stop that noise?  Don’t you know that I have nobody on my side at present but this respectable dowager on the first floor below?  If she supposes that I am making all this racket over her head we shall be deadly enemies by to-morrow.”