My perpetuity at M. de Leuven's table lasted exactly as long as that of Prince Louis at Ham. I will tell how it came to cease, and I might as well admit at once that the fault was not M. de Leuven's, nor Madame de Leuven's, nor Adolphe's. It was arranged that I should dine there on the following day to make the acquaintance of the Arnault family: this was to be an extra dinner.
It can be realised how preoccupied I was, throughout the twenty-two hours that had to elapse before we sat down to the table, with the thought of dining with the author of Marius à Minturnes, the man who had written Régulus.
I announced the great news to Ernest and to Lassagne. Ernest seemed quite unmoved by it, and Lassagne was only indifferently interested. I badgered Lassagne to know why he was so cold in matters concerning such celebrities.
He answered simply, "I am not of the same political views as those gentlemen, and I do not think much of their literary value either."
I stood astounded.
"But," I asked, "have you not read Germanicus?"
"Yes; but it is very bad!"
"Have you not read Régulus?"
"Yes; but it is very poor!"
I lowered my head, more astonished than ever.