"My dear baron, one question, if you please. Have you political aspirations,—yes, or no?"
"Monsieur—"
"Oh, put all false modesty aside and answer me frankly. Do you consider yourself a politician or not?"
On hearing this allusion to his pet hobby, the poor baron, forgetting his resentment, puffed out his cheeks, and, slipping his left hand in the bosom of his dressing-gown while he gesticulated with his right, assumed a parliamentary attitude and majestically responded:
"If a most profound, extended, and conscientious study of the internal and external condition of France, if a certain aptitude for public speaking, and a devoted love of country constitute a politician, I might reasonably aspire to that rôle. Yes, and but for you, monsieur,—but for your outrageous attack upon M. de Mornand,—I might not only aspire to, but assume that rôle at an early day."
"True, my dear baron, and I must confess that it was with unutterable satisfaction that I killed two birds with one stone by preventing a base and corrupt man like M. de Mornand from marrying your ward, and at the same time preventing you from becoming a peer of France."
"Yes, from satisfying my ridiculous ambition, as you have told me to my face more than once, monsieur, and I repel the insulting aspersion with scorn and disdain. There is nothing ridiculous about my ambition, monsieur."
"It is ridiculous in every respect, my dear baron."
"Have you come here to insult me, monsieur?"
"Do you know why your ambition is ridiculous and out of place, my dear baron? It is because you long for a field of labour in which your political talents will be entirely wasted, completely swallowed up, so to speak."