"In the provinces he may be thought great, my dear boy; but here we are in Paris, and we see things differently." "If he is not a great poet, he is at least a man of infinite resource." "Well, perhaps he might have been thought clever under the Empire; but you see, my boy, the wit of 1809 is not the wit of 1822." "Still, I thought that _l'Ermite de la Chaussée-d'Antin_ was written under the Restoration." "Why, certainly; but do you think _l'Ermite de la Chaussée-d'Antin_ was by M. de Jouy?" "Most certainly, since it appears under his name." "Oh, what sweet simplicity!" "Then who wrote it?" "Why, Merle." "Who is Merle?" "Hush! he is that gentleman you see over there in a big coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He has ten times more wit than M. de Jouy." "But if he has ten times M. de Jouy's wit, how is it he has not a quarter of his reputation?" "Oh, because, you see, my boy, reputations, as you will find later, are not made either by wit or talents, but by coteries.... Just ask for the sugar; brandy makes me ill if I drink it neat. Waiter! some sugar." "But if brandy upsets you, why drink it?" "What else can one do?" said Lafarge; "if one passes one's life in cafés, one must drink something." "So you spend all your time in cafés?" "Nearly all: I can work best so." "In the midst of all the noise and talking?" "I am used to that: Théaulon works thus, Francis works thus, Rochefort works thus, we all work thus. Don't we, Théaulon?" A man of thirty to thirty-five, who had been writing rapidly, on quarto paper, something that looked like dialogue, at this interpellation lifted up his pale face--red about the cheek bones--and looked at us kindly. "Yes," he said; "what is it? Ah! it is you, Lafarge? Good-evening." And he resumed his work. "Is that Théaulon?" I asked. "Yes; there's a man of ready wit for you! only he squanders and abuses his ready wit. Do you know what he is doing now?" "No." "He is writing a comedy, in five acts, in verse." "What! he can write poetry here, in a café?" "In the first place, dear boy, this is not a café: it is a kind of literary club; everybody you see here is either an author or a journalist." "Well," I said to Lafarge, "I have never seen a café where they consumed so little and wrote so much." "The deuce, you are framing already. You almost made a witticism just then, do you know?" "Well, then, in return for the witticism I have almost perpetrated, tell me who some of these gentlemen are." "My dear fellow, it would be useless: you need to be a Parisian to be acquainted with reputations which are wholly Parisian." "But I assure you, my dear Auguste, I am not so provincial in such matters as you think I am." "Have you heard of Rochefort?" "Yes. Has he not composed some very pretty songs and two or three successful vaudevilles?" "Exactly so. Very well! he is that tall thin man, who is playing dominoes." "Both players are of equal thinness."