years since the occurrence, and
it is forgotten. When he settled in Rome he found open doors, extended
hands, as he would have found them in Madrid, London, Paris, or
elsewhere. People go to his house; they receive him! And you wish me
to believe in the devoutness of that man's daughter!... No, a thousand
times no; and you yourself, Dorsenne, with your mania for paradoxes and
sophisms, you have the right spirit in you, and these people horrify you
in reality, as they do me."

"Not the least in the world," replied the writer, who had listened to
the Marquis's tirade; with an unconvinced smile, he repeated: "Not
the least in the world.... You have spoken of me as an acrobat or an
athlete. I am not offended, because it is you, and because I know that
you love me dearly. Let me at least have the suppleness of one. First,
before passing judgment on a financial affair I shall wait until I
understand it. Hafner was acquitted. That is enough, for one thing. Were
he even the greatest rogue in the universe, that would not prevent his
daughter from being an angel, for another. As for that cosmopolitanism
for which you censure him, we do not agree there; it is just that which
interests me in him. Thirdly,... I should not consider that I had lost
the six months spent in Rome, if I had met only him. Do not look at
me as if I were one of the patrons of the circus, Uncle Beuve, or poor
Monsieur Renan himself," he continued, tapping the Marquis's shoulder.
"I swear to you that I am very serious. Nothing interests me more than
these exceptions to the general rule--than those who have passed through
two, three, four phases of existence. Those individuals are my
museum, and you wish me to sacrifice to your scruples one of my finest
subjects.... Moreover,"--and the malice of the remark he was about to
make caused the young man's eyes to sparkle "revile Baron Hafner as much
as you like," he continued; "call him a thief and a snob, an intriguer
and a knave, if it pleases you. But as for being a person who does not
know where his ancestors lived, I reply, as did Bonhomet when he
reached heaven and the Lord said to him: 'Still a chimney-doctor,
Bonhomet?'--'And you, Lord?'. For you were born in Bourgogne, Monsieur
de Montfanon, of an ancient family, related to all the nobility-upon
which I congratulate you--and you have lived here in Rome for almost
twenty-four years, in the Cosmopolis which you revile."

"First of all," replied the Pope's for