awn upon
himself your hatred and contempt, his child-like countenance and frank,
open manners, in my opinion, did more honour to my table, than your
Marshal Montrevel could ever do. Accident, the weather brought us
together; the times are also so changed that we do not yet know, but we
ourselves may be compelled to sue for refuge among the most miserable.
But as you so despise that youth, I still less comprehend that you
should honour him so highly as to argue with him, nay, to seek yourself
for a dispute; for the future interfere not with my ways."

They sat down and as Edmond was silent, the Counsellor said, after a
pause: "What do you think then of this priest and his manners? such as
these, you see, are appointed to direct and instruct the people, the
unfortunate people! these became combatants and murderers like this
colossus. That my house is compelled to shelter such, that is it indeed
which humbles me. All champions for a good cause may not be
individually good," said Edmond.

"Retire to rest now, my son," said the Counsellor kindly, "I shall sit
up some time longer, I am too disturbed to be able to sleep, I shall
read yet a little while, rest will then ensue with cooler blood."
Edmond embraced his father, and then retired to his chamber. The old
man gazed sorrowfully after him, and thought upon his son's future
destiny; he sunk into a deep and melancholy reverie, no where did hope,
or comfort seem to await him. He took up his book in order to calm the
perturbation of his spirit, he tried to collect himself; he reflected
upon the wonderful disposition of the mind, to divert itself by that
which is most profound, in order to escape from its own appropriate
feelings, and to be itself again in the inward sanctuary of the spirit.
Thus without reading Plato, which he had laid open before him, he
became more and more absorbed in a contemplative investigation on the
double nature of the soul and of the mind, that reflects on itself and
comprehends its nature and property, which, in thought, at the same
time, views, and proving it, ponders upon this thought, being at once
actor and spectator, and being only at this moment truly conscious of
itself. He did not know how long he might have indulged in these
reflections; when raising his eyes, he was surprised to see his son by
his side. "You are still here, Edmond?" said he wondering. "No, my
father," whispered the son, "I have reposed quite two hours, but just
now when