a Republican administration, a man who had played charades at
Compiegne, had thrown him into a state of angry excitement.

Ramel, however, burst into laughter.

"Ah, nonsense! You will see many other such! Why, governments always do
favors to their enemies when their opponents pretend to lower their
colors! What good is it to serve friends? They love you."

"This does not vex you, then, old Republican?"

"I, an old soldier grown white in harness," said Ramel, whose moustache
still played under his smile, "that doesn't disturb my peace in the
least. I comfort myself with the thought that my dream, my _ideal_, to
use a trite expression, is not touched by such absurdities, and I am
persuaded that progress does not lag and that the cause of liberty gains
ground, in spite of so much injustice and folly. I confess, however,
that I sometimes feel the strange emotion that a man might experience on
seeing, after the lapse of years, the lovely woman whom he loved to
distraction at twenty, in the arms of a person whom he did not
particularly respect."

Ramel had lighted his pipe, and half-hidden by the bluish wreaths of
smoke, chatted away, quite happy on his side to give himself up to the
revelation of the secret of his heart without the least bitterness, and
like an elder brother, advised this man, who was still young and whom
he had compared formerly to one of those too fine pieces of porcelain
that the least shock would crack.

"Ah!" he said abruptly, "above all, my dear Vaudrey, do not fear to
appear in the tribune more uncouth and assertive than you really are. In
times when the word _sympathetic_ becomes an insult, it is wiser to have
the manners of a boor. Tact is a good thing."

"I shall never succeed in that," said Sulpice, smiling as usual.

"So much the worse! What has been wanting in my case is not to have been
able to secure the title of _our antipathetic confrere_. The modest and
refined people are dupes. By virtue of swelling their necks, turkeys
succeed in resembling peacocks. Believe me, my dear friend, it is
dangerous to have too refined a taste, even in office, even in the rank
in which you are placed. One hesitates to proclaim the excessively
stupid things that stir the crowd, and the blockhead who is bold enough
to declare his folly creates a hellish noise with his nonsense, while a
man of refinement, who is not always a squeamish man, remains in his
corner unseen. Remember that more moths are caught