“Such philosophy spares him the mental anguish some of us are experiencing to-day,” said M. Leterrier.
Since the day he had signed the protest of the “Intellectuals” M. Leterrier lived in a state of perpetual astonishment. He had set forth his reasons in a letter to the local newspapers, and could not understand his opponents who called him a Jew, a Prussian, an “Intellectual,” and said that he had been bought. What also surprised him was that Eusèbe Boulet, the editor of the Phare, referred to him daily as a disloyal citizen and an opponent of the Army.
“Would you believe it?” he cried. “They have dared to put in the Phare that I insult the Army! I insult the Army! I who have a son serving with the colours!”
The two professors spoke at length of the Affair, and M. Leterrier, of the still guileless soul, repeated:
“I cannot understand why political considerations and party passions should be brought into the affair at all. It is a question of moral right, and far above such things!”
“Exactly!” replied M. Bergeret. “But you would not be in a state of perpetual astonishment if you would only remember that the passions of the mob are simple and violent, and that it is impossible to reason with such people. Few men are clever enough to keep control of their minds during difficult investigations, and it has required sustained attention on our part to discover the truth of the matter. It has required sustained attention, and the force of minds trained to the examination of facts with method and sagacity. Advantages such as these, and the satisfaction of knowing oneself in possession of them are well worth a few contemptible insults.”
“When will it all end?” asked M. Leterrier.
“In six months, perhaps, or twenty years—or never,” replied M. Bergeret.
“Where will they draw the line?” asked M. Leterrier. “Scelere velandum est scelus. It is killing me, my friend, it is killing me!”
It was true. His sense of right and wrong had gone awry, he was feverish and his liver was out of order.