"Hush! Be quiet, and listen.—You know that Saint-Bergame writes for a newspaper?"
"Yes."
"The newspaper in question has much to say about literature and the stage; and Saint-Bergame writes almost all the dramatic criticisms. I have often thought that his judgments were partial and unjust, and I have not hesitated to tell him so. When I have read in his article, after a play has been successfully produced, that it has failed miserably and been hissed, I have exclaimed:
"'What you have written is false! It's a shame! Why do you cry down that play?'
"'Because the author is not my friend. Because he didn't come to bespeak my good will.'
"'So, because an author is conscious of his dignity, because he doesn't go about begging praise; because, in short, he relies upon your sense of justice, your impartiality, you abuse him and belittle his work! And you call that exercising your profession of critic! In that case, it's a vile profession; you had better be a mason, monsieur, if your talents lie in that direction.'
"But Saint-Bergame always laughed at my anger, and that was the end of it. A few days ago, however, I saw at one of the boulevard theatres a very pretty young débutante, who showed great promise in her part. Saint-Bergame was with me, and echoed my opinion of the young actress's talent.
"'Then, of course, you will speak well of her in your newspaper?' I said. He smiled in a curious way, and answered:
"'We shall see; that depends.'
"'Depends on what? What is there to prevent your writing what you think at this moment?'