think--do you believe in your soul--that
it is cant? Is it cant that the feudal grip is on all things that live,
crushing them like grapes in the press, to its own profit? Does it not
exercise its rights upon the waters of the river, the fire that bakes
the poor man's bread of grass and barley, on the wind that turns the
mill? The peasant cannot take a step upon the road, cross a crazy bridge
over a river, buy an ell of cloth in the village market, without meeting
feudal rapacity, without being taxed in feudal dues. Is not that enough,
M. le Marquis? Must you also demand his wretched life in payment for the
least infringement of your sacred privileges, careless of what widows
or orphans you dedicate to woe? Will naught content you but that your
shadow must lie like a curse upon the land? And do you think in your
pride that France, this Job among the nations, will suffer it forever?"

He paused as if for a reply. But none came. The Marquis considered him,
strangely silent, a half smile of disdain at the corners of his lips, an
ominous hardness in his eyes.

Again Andre-Louis tugged at his friend's sleeve.

"Philippe."

Philippe shook him off, and plunged on, fanatically.

"Do you see nothing of the gathering clouds that herald the coming of
the storm? You imagine, perhaps, that these States General summoned
by M. Necker, and promised for next year, are to do nothing but devise
fresh means of extortion to liquidate the bankruptcy of the State?
You delude yourselves, as you shall find. The Third Estate, which you
despise, will prove itself the preponderating force, and it will find
a way to make an end of this canker of privilege that is devouring the
vitals of this unfortunate country."

M. le Marquis shifted in his chair, and spoke at last.

"You have, monsieur," said he, "a very dangerous gift of eloquence. And
it is of yourself rather than of your subject. For after all, what
do you offer me? A rechauffe of the dishes served to out-at-elbow
enthusiasts in the provincial literary chambers, compounded of the
effusions of your Voltaires and Jean-Jacques and such dirty-fingered
scribblers. You have not among all your philosophers one with the wit to
understand that we are an order consecrated by antiquity, that for our
rights and privileges we have behind us the authority of centuries."

"Humanity, monsieur," Philippe replied, "is more ancient than nobility.
Human rights are contemporary with man."

The Marquis