the secret envy that gnawed at the heart of the ex-official.

"If you, experienced as you are, will do the honor to follow my
advice," added the philanthropist, "and, above all, not mention our
compact to any one, I will undertake to have you decorated with the
Legion of honor, to the applause of the whole quarter."

"Oh! if we succeed in that," cried Thuillier, "you don't know what I
would do for you."

This explains why Thuillier carried his head high when Theodose had
the audacity that evening to put opinions into his mouth.

In art--and perhaps Moliere had placed hypocrisy in the rank of art by
classing Tartuffe forever among comedians--there exists a point of
perfection to which genius alone attains; mere talent falls below it.
There is so little difference between a work of genius and a work of
talent, that only men of genius can appreciate the distance that
separates Raffaelle from Correggio, Titian from Rubens. More than
that; common minds are easily deceived on this point. The sign of
genius is a certain appearance of facility. In fact, its work must
appear, at first sight, ordinary, so natural is it, even on the
highest subjects. Many peasant-women hold their children as the famous
Madonna in the Dresden gallery holds hers. Well, the height of art in
a man of la Peyrade's force was to oblige others to say of him later:
"Everybody would have been taken in by him."

Now, in the salon Thuillier, he noted a dawning opposition; he
perceived in Colleville the somewhat clear-sighted and criticising
nature of an artist who has missed his vocation. The barrister felt