“A supper among French journalists always fills me with dread,” said the German diplomatist, with serene urbanity; he looked as he spoke at Blondet, whom he had met at the Comtesse de Montcornet’s. “It is laid upon you, gentlemen, to fulfil a prophecy of Blücher’s.” “What prophecy?” asked Nathan. “When Blücher and Sacken arrived on the heights of Montmartre in 1814 (pardon me, gentlemen, for recalling a day unfortunate for France), Sacken (a rough brute), remarked, ‘Now we will set Paris alight!’—‘Take very good care that you don’t,’ said Blücher. ‘France will die of _that_, nothing else can kill her,’ and he waved his hand over the glowing, seething city, that lay like a huge canker in the valley of the Seine.—There are no journalists in our country, thank Heaven!” continued the Minister after a pause. “I have not yet recovered from the fright that the little fellow gave me, a boy of ten, in a paper cap, with the sense of an old diplomatist. And to-night I feel as if I were supping with lions and panthers, who graciously sheathe their claws in my honor.” “It is clear,” said Blondet, “that we are at liberty to inform Europe that a serpent dropped from your Excellency’s lips this evening, and that the venomous creature failed to inoculate Mlle. Tullia, the prettiest dancer in Paris; and to follow up the story with a commentary on Eve, and the Scriptures, and the first and last transgression. But have no fear, you are our guest.” “It would be funny,” said Finot. “We would begin with a scientific treatise on all the serpents found in the human heart and human body, and so proceed to the _corps diplomatique_,” said Lousteau. “And we could exhibit one in spirits, in a bottle of brandied cherries,” said Vernou. “Till you yourself would end by believing in the story,” added Vignon, looking at the diplomatist. “Gentlemen,” cried the Duc de Rhétoré, “let sleeping claws lie.” “The influence and power of the press is only dawning,” said Finot. “Journalism is in its infancy; it will grow. In ten years’ time, everything will be brought into publicity. The light of thought will be turned on all subjects, and——” “The blight of thought will be over it all,” corrected Blondet. “Here is an apothegm,” cried Claude Vignon. “Thought will make kings,” said Lousteau. “And undo monarchs,” said the German. “And therefore,” said Blondet, “if the press did not exist, it would be necessary to invent it forthwith. But here we have it, and live by it.” “You will die of it,” returned the German diplomatist. “Can you not see that if you enlighten the masses, and raise them in the political scale, you make it all the harder for the individual to rise above their level? Can you not see that if you sow the seeds of reasoning among the working-classes, you will reap revolt, and be the first to fall victims? What do they smash in Paris when a riot begins?”