“That proves,” said the Abbe Gondrin, “the great absorption which their studies give to their minds, and, at the same time, a simplicity of nature which is very touching.”
“When they are not as obstinate as mules,” said Brigitte, hastily. “For myself, monsieur l’abbe, I must say that if I had had any idea of marriage, a savant wouldn’t have suited me at all. What do they do, these savants, anyhow? Useless things most of the time. You are all admiring one who has discovered a star; but as long as we are in this world what good is that to us? For all the use we make of stars it seems to me we have got enough of them as it is.”
“Bravo, Brigitte!” said Colleville, getting loose again; “you are right, my girl, and I think, as you do, that the man who discovers a new dish deserves better of humanity.”
“Colleville,” said Flavie, “I must say that your style of behavior is in the worst taste.”
“My dear lady,” said the Abbe Gondrin, addressing Brigitte, “you might be right if we were formed of matter only; and if, bound to our body, there were not a soul with instincts and appetites that must be satisfied. Well, I think that this sense of the infinite which is within us, and which we all try to satisfy each in our own way, is marvellously well helped by the labors of astronomy, that reveal to us from time to time new worlds which the hand of the Creator has put into space. The infinite in you has taken another course; this passion for the comfort of those about you, this warm, devoted, ardent affection which you feel for your brother, are equally the manifestation of aspirations which have nothing material about them, and which, in seeking their end and object, never think of asking, ‘What good does that do? what is the use of this?’ Besides, I must assure you that the stars are not as useless as you seem to think. Without them how would navigators cross the sea? They would be puzzled to get you the vanilla with which you have flavored the delicious cream I am now eating. So, as Monsieur Colleville has perceived, there is more affinity than you think between a dish and a star; no one should be despised,—neither an astronomer nor a good housekeeper—”
The abbe was here interrupted by the noise of a lively altercation in the antechamber.
“I tell you that I will go in,” said a loud voice.
“No, monsieur, you shall not go in,” said another voice, that of the man-servant. “The company are at table, I tell you, and nobody has the right to force himself in.”
Thuillier turned pale; ever since the seizure of his pamphlet, he fancied all sudden arrivals meant the coming of the police.
Among the various social rules imparted to Brigitte by Madame de Godollo, the one that most needed repeating was the injunction never, as mistress of the house, to rise from the table until she gave the signal for retiring. But present circumstances appeared to warrant the infraction of the rule.