The student ventured again.
“He illustrates what he professes.”
“An infinite capacity for piggishness?”
“No, monsieur; but to extend the prerogatives of pleasure; to set the example of a cultivated licence that the canaille may learn to elevate itself to the higher hedonism.”
Ned had nothing to say to this boozy ethology. The other two chorused crapulous praise of the fallen musician.
“He is the soul of honour,” said the farmer, who seemed a man of simple ideas.
“He devotes himself, his oratory, his purse, to the cause of intellectual emancipation,” cried the student.
“And what does his father, M. de St Denys, say to all this?” asked Ned.
Lambertine shook his perplexed head. The student humoured a little snigger of deprecation.
“There is no father,” said he. “M. de St Denys the younger reigns at the Château Méricourt. I see you sneer, monsieur. It is natural for a victim of insular despotism. Here the prospect widens—the atmosphere grows fresh. You will not have heard of it, no; but it is true that there is a sound in the air. Monsieur, I will not be sneered at!”