“Do they give lectures on orthopedy and intellectual gymnastics?” asked Merlin.
“Very likely,” answered Finot, “if Bianchon has any hand in their theories.”
“Pshaw!” said Lousteau; “he will be a great physician anyhow.”
“Isn’t d’Arthez their visible head?” asked Nathan, “a little youngster that is going to swallow all of us up.”
“He is a genius!” cried Lucien.
“Genius, is he! Well, give me a glass of sherry!” said Claude Vignon, smiling.
Every one, thereupon, began to explain his character for the benefit of his neighbor; and when a clever man feels a pressing néed of explaining himself, and of unlocking his heart, it is pretty clear that wine has got the upper hand. An hour later, all the men in the company were the best friends in the world, addressing each other as great men and bold spirits, who held the future in their hands. Lucien, in his quality of host, was sufficiently clearheaded to apprehend the meaning of the sophistries which impressed him and completed his demoralization.
“The Liberal party,” announced Finot, “is compelled to stir up discussion somehow. There is no fault to find with the action of the Government, and you may imagine what a fix the Opposition is in. Which of you now cares to write a pamphlet in favor of the system of primogeniture, and raise a cry against the secret designs of the Court? The pamphlet will be paid for handsomely.”
“I will write it,” said Hector Merlin. “It is my own point of view.”
“Your party will complain that you are compromising them,” said Finot. “Félicien, you must undertake it; Dauriat will bring it out, and we will keep the secret.”