"Your theory is false, I tell you," said the Russian. "What you saw probably was love."
"Then it would have been God!" cried the Abbé.
"Why?"
"I believe with Novalis that 'love is the highest reality,'" replied Gérard; then he added with a laugh, "No, Duke, what you saw was an emanation from yourself—a master passion. It was the corporeal embodiment of your love of pigeon-shooting!"
"Perhaps," laughed the Duke.
"I tell you what, mon ami," said Pomerantseff rising, as he saw the Abbé making preparations to depart. "I am glad that my appetite, corporealized and separated from my discretion, is not in your wine cellar. Your Johannisberg would suffer!"
"Prince, you must drive me home," said the Abbé. "I cannot get into a draughty cab at this hour of the night."
"Très volontiers! Good night, Duke. Remember to-morrow morning, at half-past nine, at the Gare de Lyon," said the Prince.
"Remember to-morrow night at half-past ten, at Mme. de Langeac's," bawled the Abbé; and so they left. The young nobleman hurried down the cold staircase and into the Prince's brougham.
"What a pity," exclaimed the Abbé when they were once fairly started, "that a man with all the mind of De Frontignan should give himself up to such wild ideas and dreams!"