There are some poor people who are
born fools and never change."
A smile of delight appeared on every face.
The Duke found himself in an argument with Lord Glerey, a phlegmatic
Englishman, whose marital misfortunes had made both London and Paris
laugh.
"You seem," said the Duke, "to confuse indifference with philosophy."
"I do not confuse them, my dear sir. My apparent indifference is
simply scorn for the sarcasms, the cruelty of the people of society
who are always ready to rejoice when anyone attacks the honour or love
of another."
The Duke murmured slowly, "Certainly what they call 'the world'
deserves scorn. And all the same, taken separately, every individual
of this collectivity is a man or woman like any other, a suffering
being, who laughs just the same, like an eternal Figaro, for fear of
being compelled to weep."
Count Albert was talking to an old sceptic.
"But," the Countess de Morgueil addressed him suddenly, "What would
you do, if on the eve of attaining the longed-for happiness, you found
yourself suddenly confronted by an insurmountable obstacle."
"Everything would depend on the quality of the happiness in prospect,
Madame. Some happiness easily abandoned, and some happiness is to be
struggled for until death itself."
Maurice had guessed the point of this sudden attack. He was none the
less surprised by Albert's answer.
"Decidedly, it is going to be even more difficult than I feared," he
thought.
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