"And I want change for my Napoleon," said De Breze, laughing.

"My dear Vicomte," said Graham, "one thing we may all grant,--that in
culture and intellect you are far superior to the mass of your fellow
Parisians; that you are therefore a favourable type of their political
character."

"_Ah, mon cher, vous etes trop aimable_."

"And therefore I venture to say this,--if the archangel Gabriel were
permitted to descend to Paris and form the best government for France
that the wisdom of seraph could devise, it would not be two years--I
doubt if it would be six months--before out of this Paris, which you call
the _Foyer des Idees_, would emerge a powerful party, adorned by yourself
and other _hommes de plume_, in favour of a revolution for the benefit of
_ce bon Satan_ and _ce cher petit Beelzebub_."

"What a pretty vein of satire you have, _mon cher_!" said the Vicomte,
good-humouredly; "there is a sting of truth in your witticism. Indeed,
I must send you some articles of mine in which I have said much the same
thing,--_les beaux, esprits se rencontrent_. The fault of us French is
impatience, desire of change; but then it is that desire which keeps the
world going and retains our place at the head of it. However, at this
time we are all living too fast for our money to keep up with it, and too
slow for our intellect not to flag. We vie with each other on the road
to ruin, for in literature all the old paths to fame are shut up."

Here a tall gentleman, with whom the Vicomte had been conversing before
he accosted Vane, and who had remained beside De Breze listening in