“It is the story of the pot and the kettle,” said Dr. Keif, when he was in the street. “Each one says of the other that he is a queer fellow.” Saying which, the Doctor smiles, without the least suspicion that he is quite as queer as the rest.
It is past midnight when the Doctor returns from his nocturnal expedition, the adventures of which shall be duly recorded in another chapter. George opens the door to him. “The family have gone to bed,” says he, “but the two gentlemen have not yet adjourned.” Indeed their voices are plainly audible in the hall, and Dr. Keif looking up, beholds Sir John and Mons. Enfin on the landing, each holding a flat candle-stick with the candle burnt down to an awful degree of lowness, in his hand. The case is as clear as daylight. False to his principles, Sir John is engaged in a desperate attempt to “reason the dog’s hind-leg straight.”
Dr. Keif came just in time to enjoy the climax of the controversy.
“Enfin—the less you say about literature the better. What English author ever made a revolution?”
“I assure you, sir, Shakespeare—”
“And I assure you, sir, that, in my opinion, Shakespeare is entirely deficient in power. No power whatever, parole d’honneur! Coarse! Ah yes! he is indeed coarse. But power? Ah, my dear sir, where will you find it?”
“And I tell you, sir, that your grisettes and lorettes and actresses want grace, that’s what they do. And why do they want it? To be graceful, a woman should be decent, sir, and respectable, sir; and your grisettes are not a whit better than they ought to be!”
“Good night, gentlemen,” whispers Dr. Keif, as he passes them on the landing. “Don’t settle the question now; I should like to say a few words about it to-morrow morning.”
They stare at him in a bewildered manner, and the very next moment they dispute as fierce as ever.
“Mons. Gueronnay thinks Shakespeare lacks power; and Sir John is disgusted with the French women, because they want grace! Why it’s as good as a play!” mutters Dr. Keif as he gains his own room.