Struck by the reserve of the Marquis on the subject of his lawsuit, the councillor said, casting on his guest a penetrating look:
"But this lawsuit, we forget that." . . .
"The idea of thinking, sir, of sad material interests, when we are speaking of the object of our worship to one who shares our admiration!"
"Hum! hum!" said the doctor, shaking his head; and smiling with a caustic air, he recited these verses:
"'Mens bona, fama, fides! hæc clare, et ut audiat hospes;
Illa sibi introrsum, et sub lingua immurmurat: Oh! si
Ebullit patrui præclarum funus!'"[14]
"Yes . . . yes . . . 'one says, aloud, I forget my lawsuit; . . . and, in a low tone, devote to the infernal gods the wicked councillor who will not give me a word of hope.' . . . Isn't that it?"
"What do you mean, sir?" said the Marquis, smiling, and answering by a quotation from the same book:
"'Messe tenus propria vive!'"[15]
"And you believe you have reaped indifference, young man?" said the savant, laughing at this apropos quotation. "Well, I will undeceive you. . . . It shall not be said that the voice of old Sphex will not, at least, protest against the judgment of an old tun-belly like Flachsinfingen, or an old he-goat of a centurion, a brutal gladiator like Henferester. In my opinion, your rights and those of the German princes are so perfectly balanced, that a breath only would turn the scale."
"'Scis etenim justum gemina suspendere lance
Ancipitis libræ,'"[16]