There you have Sagnier and Fonsegue: just compare them a bit. In
reality they are birds of the same feather: each has a quill and uses it.
But how different the systems and the results. Sagnier's print is really
a sewer which rolls him along and carries him to the cesspool; while the
other's paper is certainly an example of the best journalism one can
have, most carefully written, with a real literary flavour, a treat for
readers of delicate minds, and an honour to the man who directs it. But
at the bottom, good heavens! in both cases the farce is precisely the
same!"
Massot burst out laughing, well pleased with this final thrust. Then all
at once: "Ah! here's Fonsegue at last!" said he.
Quite at his ease, and still laughing, he forthwith introduced the
priest. "This is Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, my dear /patron/, who has been
waiting more than twenty minutes for you--I'm just going to see what is
happening inside. You know that Mege is interpellating the government."
The new comer started slightly: "An interpellation!" said he. "All right,
all right, I'll go to it."
Pierre was looking at him. He was about fifty years of age, short of
stature, thin and active, still looking young without a grey hair in his
black beard. He had sparkling eyes, too, but his mouth, said to be a
terrible one, was hidden by his moustaches. And withal he looked a
pleasant companion, full of wit to the tip of his little pointed nose,
the nose of a sporting dog that is ever scenting game.
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