other ways made a larger figure among the people of the West.

As Pierre said, whose wisdom was more to be trusted than his general
morality, "It is strange that most men think not enough of themselves
till a woman shows them how. But it is the great wonder that the woman
does not despise him for it. Quel caractere! She has so often to show him
his way like a babe, and yet she says to him, Mon grand homme! my master!
my lord! Pshaw! I have often thought that women are half saints, half
fools, and men half fools, half rogues. But Quelle vie!--what life!
without a woman you are half a man; with one you are bound to a single
spot in the world, you are tied by the leg, your wing is clipped--you
cannot have all. Quelle vie--what life!"

To this Macavoy said: "Spit-spat! But what the devil good does all yer
thinkin' do ye, Pierre? It's argufy here and argufy there, an' while yer
at that, me an' the rest av us is squeezin' the fun out o' life. Aw, go
'long wid ye. Y'are only a bit o' hell and grammar, annyway. Wid all yer
cuttin' and carvin' things to see the internals av thim, I'd do more to
the call av a woman's finger than for all the logic and knowalogy y' ever
chewed--an' there y'are, me little tailor o' jur'sprudince!"

"To the finger call of Hilton's wife, eh?"

Macavoy was not quite sure what Pierre's enigmatical tone meant. A wild
light showed in his eyes, and his tongue blundered out: "Yis, Hilton's
wife's finger, or a look av her eye, or nothin' at all. Aisy, aisy, ye
wasp! Ye'd go stalkin' divils in hell for her yerself, so ye would. But
the tongue av ye--but, it's gall to the tip."

"Maybe, my king. But I'd go hunting because I wanted; you because you