Then, suddenly bringing down his huge hand on the tail-piece of the piano, where he had laid his chaplet and his medals, he exclaimed:
“Nom de Dieu! Lacrisse, don’t touch my rosary. It has been blessed by our Holy Father the Pope!”
“All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “we ought to have a manifestation in the streets. The streets are ours, and the people ought to know it. Let’s go to Longchamps on the 14th.”
“I’m on,” said Jacques de Cadde.
“So am I,” cried Dellion.
“Your manifestations are idiotic,” said the little Baron, who until then had been silent. He was rich enough to refrain from belonging to any political party. “Nationalism is beginning to bore me,” he added.
“Ernest!” said the Baronne with the gentle severity of a mother.
“It’s true,” went on Ernest, “your manifestations bore me to death.”
Young Dellion, who owed him money, and Chassons des Aigues, who wanted to borrow some, carefully avoided any direct reply. Chassons tried to smile, as though charmed by his wit, and Dellion half assented.
“I don’t deny it, but what doesn’t bore one to death?”