d; an irresistible
air of self-conceit gave piquancy to his long, marked features, small
glittering eye, and withered cheeks, on which a delicate and soft bloom
excited suspicion of artificial embellishment. A very fit frame of body
this for a valet; but I humbly opine a very unseemly one for a student
of Leibnitz.

* Which is possibly the reason why there are so many disciples of Kant
at the present moment.--ED.

"And what," said I, after a short pause, "is your opinion of this
philosopher? I understand that he has just written a work* above all
praise and comprehension."

* The "Theodicaea."

"It is true, Monsieur, that it is above his own understanding. He knows
not what sly conclusions may be drawn from his premises; but I beg
Monsieur's pardon, I shall be tedious and intrusive."

"Not a whit! speak out, and at length. So you conceive that Leibnitz
makes ropes which _others_ will make into ladders?"

"Exactly so," said Desmarais; "all his arguments go to swell the sails
of the great philosophical truth,--'Necessity!' We are the things and
toys of Fate, and its everlasting chain compels even the Power that
creates as well as the things created."

"Ha!" said I, who, though little versed at that time in these
metaphysical subtleties, had heard St. John often speak of the strange
doctrine to which Desmarais referred, "you are, then, a believer in the
fatalism of Spinoza?"

"No, Monsieur," said Desmarais, with a complacent smile, "my system is
my own: it is composed of the thoughts of others; but my thoughts are
the cords which bind the various sticks into a fagot."

"Well," said I, smiling at the man's conceited air, "and what is your
main dogma?"

"Our utter impotence."

"Pleasing! Mean you that we have no free will?"

"None."

"Why, then, you take away the very existence of vice and virtue; and,
according to you, we sin or act well, not from our own accord, but
because we are compelled and preordained to it."

Desmarais' smile withered into the grim sneer with which, as I have
said, it was sometimes varied.

"Monsieur's penetration is extreme; but shall I not prepare his nightly
draught?"

"No; answer me at length; and tell me the difference between good and
ill, if we are compelled by Necessity to either."

Desmarais hemmed, and began. Despite of his caution, the coxcomb
loved to hear himself talk, and he talked, therefore, to the following
purpose:

"Liberty is a thing impossible! C