“Where the devil have you been?” cried the organist, impatiently. “It is too late now to take the steamboat.”
“Well,” said Sallenauve, carelessly, “then I shall have a few hours longer to play truant.”
“But during that time your enemies are tunnelling their mine.”
“I don’t care. In that cave called political life one has to be ready for anything.”
“I thought as much!” exclaimed Bricheteau. “You have been to see Luigia; her success has turned your head, and the deputy is thinking of his statues.”
“How often have I heard you say yourself that Art alone is great?”
“But an orator,” replied Bricheteau, “is also an artist, and the greatest of all. Others speak to the heart and the mind, but he to the conscience and the will of others. At any rate, this is no time to look back; you are engaged in a duel with your adversaries. Are you an honest man, or a scoundrel who has stolen a name? There is the question which may, in consequence of your absence, be answered against you in the Chamber.”
“I begin to feel that you have led me into a mistaken path; I had in my hands a treasure, and I have flung it away!”
“Happily,” said the organist, “that’s only an evening mist which the night will dissipate. To-morrow you will remember the engagement you are under to your father, and the great future which is before you.”