reover,
than that of juvenile faith, "old"--he saw the newcomers rise as he
might have beheld the descent of La Courtille.

"It amuses me."

Ramel had, in the course of his career as a publicist, as a dealer in
fame, assisted without taking part therein, in the formation of
syndicates, allotments of shares and financial intrigues; and putting
his shoulder to the wheel of enterprises that appeared to him to be
solid, while seeking to strike out those which appeared to be doubtful,
he had created millionaires without asking a cent from them, just as he
had made ministers without accepting even a thread of ribbon at their
hands.

This infatuating craft of a maker of men pleased him. All those pioneers
in the great human comedy, he had seen on their entrance, hesitating and
crying to him for assistance. This statesman, swelling out with his
importance in the tribune, had received the benefit of his correction of
his earlier harangues. He had encouraged, during his competition for the
Prix de Rome, this member of the Institute who to-day represented
national art at the Villa Medicis; he had seen this composer, now a
millionaire, beg for a private rehearsal as he might ask alms, and slip
into one's hands concert tickets for the Herz hall. He was the first to
point out the verses of the poet who now wore _l'habit vert_. He had
first heralded the fame of the actor now in vogue, of the tenor who
to-day had his villas at Nice, yes, Ramel was the first to say: "He is
one of the chosen few!"

Old, weary and knowing, very gentle and refined in his banter, and
refusing to be blinded or irritated by the trickeries of destiny, Denis
Ramel, when asked why, at his age and with his talents, he was neither a
deputy, nor a millionaire, nor a member of the Institute, but only a
Warwick living like a poor devil, smiled and said, with the tone of a
man who has probed to the bottom the affairs of life:

"Bah! what is the use? All that is not so very desirable. Ministers,
academicians, millionaires, prefects, men of power, I know all about
them. I have made them all my life. The majority of those who strut
about at this very time, well! well! it is I who made them!"

And, like a philosopher allowing the rabble to pass him, who might have
been their chief, but preferred to be their judge, he locked himself in
his apartments with his books, his pictures, his engravings, his little
collection slowly gathered year by year, article by article,