"But, madame," cried Dr. Sphex, "you are sadly mistaken . . . and . . ."
"And you, too, sir," replied the councillor's wife, "have given him your vote, much to your credit! You have done well; but now tell me, how could you believe that a youth so religiously brought up . . . so religiously nourished on the Scriptures . . . would have stained his chaste mind with all your abominable profane literature! Why make it a crime in him for not knowing the verses of a certain . . . Persius . . . who, they say, is the most shameless of satirists?"
"By Hercules, madame, it was he who . . ."
"Ah, by Hercules! What a frightful pagan oath!" cried the lady, raising her hands towards heaven. "I know all, I tell you . . . but I will say to you as I did to the baron: since you have dismissed your unjust prejudices . . . and have joined my husband in helping the cause of our innocent protégé to triumph . . . all glory and honor to you!"
"My dear baron . . . my nerves are horribly shaken by this scene," said the doctor, turning pale and seizing the baron's hands; "I am not well." . . .
"And I, my poor doctor, I am suffocating . . . I have vertigo . . . my head is splitting! I'm stifling . . . I need air!"
The door opened, and the ushers entered to announce that the Marquis of Létorière begged to have the honor of saluting and thanking the councillors. . . .
"'Tis God who sends him to us!" cried the conseillère. "Let him come in . . . let him come in! the sweet paschal lamb." . . .
"Now you will see this lamb-like drinker of pure water!" said the baron, with a sardonic laugh.
"Now you will see this enemy of profane antiquity!" said the doctor in the same tone, joyfully rubbing his hands.