I.—’Tis you who are beings much to be pitied, if you cannot imagine that one rises above one’s lot, and that it is impossible to be unhappy under the shelter of good actions.
He.—That is a kind of felicity with which I should find it hard to familiarise myself, for we do not often come across it. But, then, according to you, we should be good.
I.—To be happy, assuredly.
He.—Yet I see an infinity of honest people who are not happy, and an infinity of people who are happy without being honest.
I.—You think so.
He.—And is it not for having had common sense and frankness for a moment, that I don’t know where to go for a supper to-night?
I.—Nay, it is for not having had it always; it is because you did not perceive in good time that one ought first and foremost to provide a resource independent of servitude.
He.—Independent or not, the resource I had provided is at any rate the most comfortable.
I.—And the least sure and least decent.
He.—But the most conformable to my character of sloth, madman, and good-for-nought.