"No, dear M. Savarin; for above all your cynicism is genuine gaiety, and
below it solid kindness. You have that which I do not find in M. de
Mauleon's writing, nor often in the talk of the salon--you have
youthfulness."

"Youthfulness at sixty--flatterer!"

"Genius does not count its years by the almanac," said Mrs. Morley.
"I know what Isaura means--she is quite right; there is a breath of
winter in M. de Mauleon's style, and an odour of fallen leaves. Not that
his diction wants vigour; on the contrary, it is crisp with hoar-frost.
But the sentiments conveyed by the diction are those of a nature sear and
withered. And it is in this combination of brisk words and decayed
feelings that his writing represents the talk and mind of Paris. He and
Paris are always fault-finding: fault-finding is the attribute of old
age."

Colonel Morley looked round with pride, as much as to say, "Clever talker
my wife."

Savarin understood that look, and replied to it courteously. "Madame has
a gift of expression which Emile de Girardin can scarcely surpass. But
when she blames us for fault-finding, can she expect the friends of
liberty to praise the present style of things?"

"I should be obliged to the friends of liberty," said the Colonel, drily,
"to tell me how that state of things is to be mended. I find no
enthusiasm for the Orleanists, none for a Republic; people sneer at
religion; no belief in a cause, no adherence to an opinion. But the