It was you who created GAMBARA; I have only clothed him. Let me
render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, regretting only
that you do not yourself take up the pen at a time when gentlemen
ought to wield it as well as the sword, if they are to save their
country. You may neglect yourself, but you owe your talents to us.




GAMBARA



New Year's Day of 1831 was pouring out its packets of sugared almonds,
four o'clock was striking, there was a mob in the Palais-Royal, and
the eating-houses were beginning to fill. At this moment a coupe drew
up at the _perron_ and a young man stepped out; a man of haughty
appearance, and no doubt a foreigner; otherwise he would not have
displayed the aristocratic _chasseur_ who attended him in a plumed
hat, nor the coat of arms which the heroes of July still attacked.

This gentleman went into the Palais-Royal, and followed the crowd
round the galleries, unamazed at the slowness to which the throng of
loungers reduced his pace; he seemed accustomed to the stately step
which is ironically nicknamed the ambassador's strut; still, his
dignity had a touch of the theatrical. Though his features were
handsome and imposing, his hat, from beneath which thick black curls
stood out, was perhaps tilted a little too much over the right ear,
and belied his gravity by a too rakish effect. His eyes, inattentive