“It is the same thing in that sphere,” said the poet; “there are no statesmen in these days, only men who handle events more or less. Look at it, monsieur; under the system of government that we derive from the Charter, which makes a tax-list of more importance than a coat-of-arms, there is absolutely nothing solid except that which you went to seek in China,—wealth.”
Satisfied with himself and with the impression he was making on the prospective father-in-law, Canalis turned to Germain.
“Serve the coffee in the salon,” he said, inviting Monsieur de La Bastie to leave the dining-room.
“I thank you for this visit, monsieur le comte,” said La Briere; “it saves me from the embarrassment of presenting my friend to you in your own house. You have a heart, and you have also a quick mind.”
“Bah! the ready wit of Provence, that is all,” said Charles Mignon.
“Ah, do you come from Provence?” cried Canalis.
“You must pardon my friend,” said La Briere; “he has not studied, as I have, the history of La Bastie.”
At the word friend Canalis threw a searching glance at Ernest.
“If your health will allow,” said the count to the poet, “I shall hope to receive you this evening under my roof; it will be a day to mark, as the old writer said ‘albo notanda lapillo.’ Though we cannot duly receive so great a fame in our little house, yet your visit will gratify my daughter, whose admiration for your poems has even led her to set them to music.”
“You have something better than fame in your house,” said Canalis; “you have beauty, if I am to believe Ernest.”