Clementine.—Oh! but it was very likely.
Henry.—There would be great merit, certainly, in doing courageous deeds, if we were quite sure there was no danger in them!
M. de Flaumont.—But, consider my boy, that by exposing himself to the danger, which was very great, and in which he would in all probability have perished, he also exposed his children to the risk of dying of hunger, or of becoming rogues, for the want of an honest means of obtaining a living. Do you not think this a consideration of sufficient importance to counterbalance the desire he felt to save the drowning man?
Henry.—Perhaps so, papa,—but it is nevertheless certain, that we hold a man who courageously exposes his life to save a fellow-being in far higher estimation than we do one who so carefully calculates all the reasons that can be found for not doing so.
M. de Flaumont.—That is quite natural: the courage of the man who performs a brave deed is self-evident; whereas, we cannot be so sure of the motives of him who refuses to perform one. But, supposing it to be clearly proved that Paul really wished to throw himself into the water to save this man, and was only withheld by the interests of his children, do you not think he merited esteem rather than reproach?
Henry.—One thing, at least, is certain: I should not have liked to be in his position.
Clementine.—It would certainly be a most difficult matter to know what to do.
Gustavus.—Well, and while you were reflecting, the poor man would be still in the water; and so it would come to the same thing.
M. de Flaumont.—Hesitation is undoubtedly the very thing that should be most avoided in such a case, for it prevents all action; and for this reason it is that we ought to accustom ourselves to reflect upon the relative importance of our duties, in order to know which of them ought to take precedence.
Henry.—But when there happen to be two of equal importance?