"'Tiens', Saniel! Good-day, doctor."
"Good-evening, my dear sir."
"Come to the table; the beer is good to-day."
"Thank you; I am very well here."
Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the wall. He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling on the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air. A Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute.
Brigard continued:
"It is incontestable"—this was his formula, because everything he said was incontestable to him, simply because he said it—"it is incontestable that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience must be established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and inward satisfaction—"
"Duty accomplished toward whom?" interrupted Saniel.
"Toward one's self."
"Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and what is bad."