Diderot. The dandy of eternity, he had been to the clothing bazaar of time; taken what he fancied—Cæsar's hat, Queen Elizabeth's collar, Louis' cloak.
Barbeillon. Extraordinary!
Diderot. I know; but it was all so right. Round his neck a chain, an aviary of linked golden eagles. On his breast a mighty cross of five points as if it were built to crucify the senses of the world upon. In its centre a great N, the symbol of negation to humanity. No! no! no! it said to all mankind. But I felt from the look in his eyes that it had burnt through to his own heart. He is not blazing satisfaction, only smouldering discontent.
I wonder if he'll smoulder out.
From a Play by Cavendish Morton.
