“My uncle,” hinted Raphael, “so hates the moderate, that he loses all moderation in combating them.”
“Hold your tongue, Raphael,” replied the countess; “you attack and rail at all opinions, and you have none yourself, without doubt, so as to avoid the trouble of defending them.”
“My cousin,” said Raphael, “I am liberal; my empty purse says so.”
“What have you to be liberal with?” exclaimed the general, in a commanding voice.
“And why should I not be? The duke is so.”
“You would be liberal!” said anew the old soldier in a terrible tone, sounding like the roll of a drum.
“Well!” murmured Raphael, “one easily sees that my uncle will only accord the title liberal to the arts which bear that denomination. General,” he added, excited with refined joy, “why cannot the duke and I be liberal?”
“Because the military,” replied the general, “have no right to be any thing but the supporters of the throne, the sustainers of order, and the defenders of their country. Do you understand, my nephew?”
“Raphael,” interrupted the countess, “do not take so much trouble: continue your recital.”