“All this, if you will permit me to make use of the phraseology employed by M. Sainte-Beuve for his biographies of obscurities--all this, I repeat, is the playful and sprightly yet already somewhat decadent side of a strong race. It smacks rather of the Parc-aux-Cerfs than of the Hotel de Rambouillet. It is a race of the strong rather than of the sweet; I incline to lay a little debauchery to its charge, and more than I should wish in brilliant and generous natures; it is gallantry after the fashion of the Marechal de Richelieu, high spirits and frolic carried rather too far; perhaps we may see in it the _outrances_ of another age, the Eighteenth Century pushed to extremes; it harks back to the Musketeers; it is an exploit stolen from Champcenetz; nay, such light-hearted inconstancy takes us back to the festooned and ornate period of the old court of the Valois. In an age as moral as the present, we are bound to regard audacity of this kind sternly; still, at the same time that ‘cornet of sugar-plums’ may serve to warn young girls of the perils of lingering where fancies, more charming than chastened, come thickly from the first; on the rosy flowery unguarded slopes, where trespasses ripen into errors full of equivocal effervescence, into too palpitating issues. The anecdote puts La Palferine’s genius before you in all its vivacity and completeness. He realizes Pascal’s _entre-deux_, he comprehends the whole scale between tenderness and pitilessness, and, like Epaminondas, he is equally great in extremes. And not merely so, his epigram stamps the epoch; the _accoucheur_ is a modern innovation. All the refinements of modern civilization are summed up in the phrase. It is monumental.” “Look here, my dear Nathan, what farrago of nonsense is this?” asked the Marquise in bewilderment. “Madame la Marquise,” returned Nathan, “you do not know the value of these ‘precious’ phrases; I am talking Sainte-Beuve, the new kind of French.--I resume. Walking one day arm in arm with a friend along the boulevard, he was accosted by a ferocious creditor, who inquired: “‘Are you thinking of me, sir?’ “‘Not the least in the world,’ answered the Count. “Remark the difficulty of the position. Talleyrand, in similar circumstances, had already replied, ‘You are very inquisitive, my dear fellow!’ To imitate the inimitable great man was out of the question.--La Palferine, generous as Buckingham, could not bear to be caught empty-handed. One day when he had nothing to give a little Savoyard chimney-sweeper, he dipped a hand into a barrel of grapes in a grocer’s doorway and filled the child’s cap from it. The little one ate away at his grapes; the grocer began by laughing, and ended by holding out his hand. “‘Oh, fie! monsieur,’ said La Palferine, ‘your left hand ought not to know what my right hand doth.’