"A pettifogger! impossible! I, for one, will never countenance a step so humiliating! It is not to be thought of!" replied his grandmother, in a tone of decision.
"No, Maurice, your project is futile," responded his father. "My joining this railroad association is quite a different matter. I shall in reality have nothing to do. It is only my name that is required; besides, America is so far off that nobody in Brittany will be aware of my connection with the company. Your becoming a lawyer would be a public matter. I cannot recall the name of a single nobleman in the whole list of barristers"—
"So much the better for me! My title may, in this solitary instance, prove of service to me. It may help to bring me clients. People will be enchanted to be defended by a viscount."
"You conjure up a picture that is absolutely revolting!" cried the countess, warmly. "My grandson pleading to defend the rabble!"
"Why not, if the rabble should happen to stand in need of defence?"
"Why not?—because you should ignore their very existence! What have you and they in common?"
Maurice was about to reply somewhat emphatically, but noticing his grandmother's knitted brow, and his father's troubled expression, he checked himself.
The countess added, with an air of determination that forbade discussion, "Maurice, you will never obtain my consent, never!"
"But if I may not study for the bar, what am I to do?" asked the young man with spirit.
"Do?" questioned the countess, proudly. "What have the de Gramonts done for centuries past? Do nothing!"