“Allow me to present to you Doctor Mathéus, of Graufthal, returning from the Scientific Congress at Bâle.”
“Ah!” said the procureur, shuffling the cards. “On his way back to Graufthal—he must have passed through Haslach, then?”
Maître Frantz thought he should have fallen backwards; but fortunately his tongue, so to speak, rejoined of its own accord—
“Pardon me, Monsieur le Procureur,” he said—“I came by way of Molsheim.”
“Ah! that’s vexatious; we might have got some useful information from you,” said Maître Kitzig.
He then dealt the cards, and the game began.
What a position for Maître Frantz! at the moment of gaining the most magnificent oratorical triumph, and of proclaiming the system, to be obliged to remain silent—of denying the doctrine—of concealing himself like a criminal! For the more he thought of giving himself up, the more his natural instincts opposed themselves to such a course, and in his trouble he cried—
“O poor Mathéus!—poor Mathéus!—to what extremities are you reduced! To go to the galleys at your time of life!—poor Mathéus! What fault of yours can have merited so sad a fate? Have you not sacrificed your repose, your dearest affections, for the happiness of humankind? Poor Mathéus!”
His heart wept, and his whole being trembled; but he had not strength enough to give himself up: he was afraid.