"I must needs apologize to you for the discourtesy of my friend De Beuvre," he said. "Nothing can be in worse taste than these religious discussions, which are no longer in fashion. But you will pardon an old man's obstinacy. In reality De Beuvre worries no more than I do about these subtleties. It is infatuation for the past which causes now and then an attack of inveighing against the dead, and thereby making himself a good deal of a bore to the living. I do not see why old age is so pedantic over its reminiscences, as if, at any age, one had not seen enough things and enough people to be as much of a philosopher as is necessary! Ah! commend me to the good people of Paris, my dear guest, for ability to talk with refinement and moderation on every subject of controversy! Commend me to the Hôtel de Rambouillet for example! Of course you have frequented the _blue salon of Arthenice_?"[8] D'Alvimar was able to reply that he was received by the marchioness, without departing from the truth. His wit and his learning had thrown open to him the doors of the fashionable Parnassus; but he had acquired no footing there, his intolerance having made itself manifest too soon in that sanctuary of French urbanity. Moreover he had little taste for the literary sheepfold. The ambition of the age was consuming him, and the pastoral, which is the ideal of repose and unostentatious leisure, was not at all in his line. So that he was overcome with fatigue and drowsiness when Bois-Doré, overjoyed to have somebody to talk with, began to recite whole pages from _Astrée_. "What can be more beautiful," he cried, "than this letter from the shepherdess to her lover: "'I am suspicious, I am jealous, I am hard to win and easy to lose, and more easy to offend and most exceeding hard to appease. My desires must be decrees of fate, my opinions arguments, and my commands inviolable laws.' "What style! and what beautiful character painting! And does not the sequel contain all the wisdom, all the philosophy and morality that a man can need? Listen to this, Sylvie's reply to Galatée: "'You must not doubt that this shepherd is in love, being so honorable a man!' "Do you understand, monsieur, the deep meaning of that sentiment? However, Sylvie herself explains it: "'The lover desires nothing so much as to be loved; to be loved one must make oneself lovable; and that which makes one lovable is the same which makes one an honorable man?'" "What? what does that mean?" cried D'Alvimar, awakened with a start by the remarks of the learned shepherdess, which Bois-Doré roared into his ear to drown the clattering of the _carrosse_ over the hard pavement of the old Roman road from La Châtre to Château-Meillant. "Yes, monsieur, yes, I would maintain it against all the world!" rejoined Bois-Doré, not observing his guest's start; "and I tire myself out repeating it to that old dotard, that old heretic in matters of sentiment!" "Who?" queried D'Alvimar in dismay.