'Doubtless,' replied the Minister of the Interior; 'but there are other works quite as dangerous. I am speaking of those cheap treatises which disseminate among the peasantry and the working-classes a heap of false social and economic science, the most evident effect of which is to seriously disturb weak brains. A work of the kind to which I am alluding, "Friend Jacques's Evening Chats," has just been submitted to the committee for consideration. It is the story of a sergeant who comes back to his native village and holds discussions with the school-master every Sunday evening in the presence of a score of labourers. Each discussion is upon a different subject, such as new systems of cultivation, trades unions, and the great part which the producer plays in society. I have read this book, to which one of the clerks called my attention, and it seems to me to be all the more dangerous since it veils its baleful theories beneath a pretended admiration for the imperial institutions. No one can be deceived by it, however; it is clearly the production of a demagogue. And so I was extremely surprised when I heard some members of the committee speak of it in eulogistic terms. I have discussed certain passages of it with them, but apparently without convincing them. The author, they have assured me, has even offered a copy of the book for your Majesty's acceptance. On that account, sire, I thought it right, before taking any active steps, to ask for your opinion and that of the council.' So saying Rougon fixed his glance on the Emperor, whose shifty eyes at last settled on a paper-knife which was lying on the table in front of him. His Majesty took up the knife and began to turn and twist it while murmuring: 'Yes, yes, "Friend Jacques's Evening Chats----"' Then, without committing himself any further, he glanced to the right and left of the table. 'You have perhaps seen the book, gentlemen. I should be very glad to know----' Then he stopped again. The ministers glanced furtively at one another, each hoping that his neighbour would speak and express an opinion. The silence, however, continued unbroken, and the feeling of constraint increased. It seemed clear that none of them had even known of the existence of the book. At last the Minister for War took it upon himself to express by a gesture the general ignorance which prevailed of the publication in question. The Emperor twisted his moustaches, showing no sign of haste. 'Well, Monsieur Delestang, have you anything to say?' he eventually inquired. Delestang was restlessly moving on his chair, as though a prey to some inward struggle. This direct question seemed to decide him; however, before speaking, he glanced involuntarily towards Rougon. 'I have had the book in my hands, sire,' he said.