or Chateau-Laroze."

Duroy had found the Corton to his liking, and let his glass be filled
every time. A delicious liveliness stole over him, a warm cheerfulness,
that mounted from the stomach to the head, flowed through his limbs and
penetrated him throughout. He felt himself wrapped in perfect comfort of
life and thought, body and soul.

A longing to speak assailed him, to bring himself into notice, to be
appreciated like these men, whose slightest words were relished.

But the conversation, which had been going on unchecked, linking ideas
one to another, jumping from one topic to another at a chance word, a
mere trifle, and skimming over a thousand matters, turned again on the
great question put by Monsieur Morel in the Chamber respecting the
colonization of Algeria.

Monsieur Walter, between two courses, made a few jests, for his wit was
skeptical and broad. Forestier recited his next day's leader. Jacques
Rival insisted on a military government with land grants to all officers
after thirty years of colonial service.

"By this plan," he said, "you will create an energetic class of
colonists, who will have already learned to love and understand the
country, and will be acquainted with its language, and with all those
grave local questions against which new-comers invariably run their
heads."

Norbert de Varenne interrupted him with: "Yes; they will be acquainted
with everything except agriculture. They will speak Arabic, but they
will be ignorant how beet-root is planted out and wheat sown. They will
be good at fencing, but very shaky as regards manures. On the contrary,
this new land should be thrown entirely open to everyone. Intelligent
men will achieve a position there; the others will go under. It is the
social law."

A brief silence followed, and the listeners smiled at one another.

George Duroy opened his mouth, and said, feeling as much surprised at
the sound of his own voice as if he had never heard himself speak: "What
is most lacking there is good land. The really fertile estates cost as
much as in France, and are bought up as investments by rich Parisians.
The real colonists, the poor fellows who leave home for lack of bread,
are forced into the desert, where nothing will grow for want of water."

Everyone looked at him, and he felt himself blushing.

Monsieur Walter asked: "Do you know Algeria, sir?"

George replied: "Yes, sir; I was there nearly two years and a half, and
I was quartered i