“Every man of a certain rank, that is to say.”
“That is to say, of your rank,” said Ormond.
“Nay, I don’t give myself as an example; but—you may judge—I own I am surprised to find myself philosophizing here in the Black Islands—but one philosophizes every where.” “And you would have more time for it here, I should suppose, than in Paris?”
“Time, my dear sir—no such thing! Time is merely in idea; but Tais-toi Jean Jacques! Tais-toi Condillac! To resume the chain of our reasoning—love and marriage—I say it all comes to much the same thing in France and in these countries—after all. There is more gallantry, perhaps, before marriage in England, more after marriage in France—which has the better bargain? I don’t pretend to decide. Philosophic doubt for me, especially in cases where ‘tis not worth while to determine; but I see I astonish you, Mr. Ormond.”
“You do, indeed,” said Ormond, ingenuously.
“I give you joy—I envy you,” said M. de Connal, sighing.
“After a certain age, if one lives in the world, one can’t be astonished—that’s a lost pleasure.”
“To me who have lived out of the world it is a pleasure, or rather a sensation—I am not sure whether I should call it a pleasure—that is not likely to be soon exhausted,” said Ormond. “A sensation! and you are not sure whether you should call it a pleasure. Do you know you’ve a genius for metaphysics?”
“I!” exclaimed Ormond.
“Ah! now I have astonished you again. Good! whether pleasurable or not, trust me, nothing is so improving to a young man as to be well astonished. Astonishment I conceive to be a sort of mental electric shock—electric fire; it opens at once and enlightens the understanding: and really you have an understanding so well worth enlightening—I do assure you, that your natural acuteness will, whenever and wherever you appear, make you un homme marquant.”