ected those of my friends to whom I
attribute most delicacy, probity, and honor. I invited two Englishmen,
the secretary of an embassy, and a puritan; a former minister, now
a mature statesman; a priest, an old man; also my former guardian, a
simple-hearted being who rendered so loyal a guardianship account that
the memory of it is still green at the Palais; besides these, there were
present a judge, a lawyer, and a notary,--in short, all social opinions,
and all practical virtues.

We began by dining well, talking well, and making some noise; then,
at dessert, I related my history candidly, and asked for advice,
concealing, of course, the Taillefer name.

A profound silence suddenly fell upon the company. Then the notary took
leave. He had, he said, a deed to draw.

The wine and the good dinner had reduced my former guardian to
silence; in fact I was obliged later in the evening to put him under
guardianship, to make sure of no mishap to him on his way home.

"I understand!" I cried. "By not giving an opinion you tell me
energetically enough what I ought to do."

On this there came a stir throughout the assembly.

A capitalist who had subscribed for the children and tomb of General Foy
exclaimed:--

"Like Virtue's self, a crime has its degrees."

"Rash tongue!" said the former minister, in a low voice, nudging me with
his elbow.

"Where's your difficulty?" asked a duke whose fortune is derived from
the estates of stubborn Protestants, confiscated on the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes.

The lawyer rose, and said:--

"In law, the case submitted to us presents no difficulty. Monsieur le
duc is right!" cried the legal organ. "There are time limitations. Where
should we all be if we had to search into the origin of fortunes? This
is simply an affair of conscience. If you must absolutely carry the case
before some tribunal, go to that of the confessional."

The Code incarnate ceased speaking, sat down, and drank a glass of
champagne. The man charged with the duty of explaining the gospel, the
good priest, rose.

"God has made us all frail beings," he said firmly. "If you love the
heiress of that crime, marry her; but content yourself with the property
she derives from her mother; give that of the father to the poor."

"But," cried one of those pitiless hair-splitters who are often to be
met with in the world, "perhaps the father could make a rich marriage
only because he was rich himself; consequently, t