"Is there not a third kind of ignorance more dangerous still--that of knowing more than one _ought_ to know?" interposed another speaker, whose countenance had already struck me as one of the most problematical that I had ever seen. His composed yet keen physiognomy, strongly reminded me of the portraits of the Italian Conclave--some of the cardinals of Giorgione and Titian; at once subtle and dignified. Carnot smiled, and said to me in a low tone, "That is a touch at Sieyes. Those two men never meet without a fencing-match. One of them has been a bishop, and cannot forgive the loss of his mitre. Sieyes has been nothing, but intends to be more than a bishop yet--if he can. Talleyrand and he hate each other with the hatred of rival beauties." It was evident that Sieyes was stung, though I could not tell how. I saw his powerful countenance flush to the forehead. But he merely said--"Pray, Monsieur, what is a vizard?" All eyes were now directed to the combatants, and a faint laugh ran round the table. But there was not the slightest appearance of perturbation in the manner or look of his antagonist, as he answered-- "Monsieur, I shall have the honour to inform you. A vizard is a contrivance for concealment, whether in silk and pasteboard or in an inflexible visage--whether in a woman who wants to disguise her features, or in a man who wants to hide his heart--whether in a masquerader or an assassin. For example, when I hear a hypocrite talk of his honesty, an intriguer of his conscience, a renegade of his candour, and a pensioner of his patriotism, I do not require to look at him--I say at once, that man wears a vizard." He paused a moment. "This," said he, "is the vizard in public life. In private, it is the impartiality of authors to their own performances, the justice of partizans, the originality of plagiaries, and the principle of _pamphleteers_."