“And I for one would descend and leave it. Ah, bah! one may mount to the topmost branch of a tree, and yet be no nearer escaping from the forest. I find myself here in interminable thickets, monsieur. I see the poor, leaf-blinded denizens of them nosing passionlessly for roots and acorns in a loveless gloom; and I know the long green fields of light and pleasure to stretch all round this core of melancholy, if only these could find the way to win to them. Is self-discipline necessary to existence? Surely our very butterflies of fashion prove the contrary.” “Now what,” thought Ned, “is the goad to this inexplicable character?” “Does monsieur, then,” said he, “advocate a creed of hedonism?” “Why not?” cried the other. “Shall not man enlarge, develop, and become more habitually one with his amiable instincts under the influence of pleasure, than he ever has done in his bondage to a religion of self-denial? To deny oneself is to deny God, after whose image one is made.” “A pretty conceit,” said Ned; “but it spells degeneracy.” “Ay, monsieur; and to the very foundations--as far back as the garden of Paradise.” “What! You would revert to primitive conditions?” “To the very ‘naked and unashamed’--but applying to that state the influence of long traditions of gentle manners. We will admit the happiness of the community to be the first consideration, and reconstruct upon a basis of nature.” A spot of colour came to his cheek. His eyes kindled with a light of febrile enthusiasm. “To be free to enjoy, in a world of yielding generosities,” he cried; “to be cast from restrictions designed to the selfish aggrandisement of infinitely less than a moiety of our race; to strip indulgence of the shamefulness that century-long cant has credited it withal--that is the El Dorado I give my efforts and my substance to attain.” “There,” thought Ned, “is confessed the animalism to which the other is but a blind. But this is half-effeminate vapouring.” He had no sympathy, indeed, with theories so untenable. This lickerish, unconstructive paganism was far from being the lodestar to his own revolutionary cock-boat. Yet he could not but marvel over M. de St Denys’ extremely practical expression of extremely frothy sentiments. Involuntarily he glanced round the room. “Yes,” cried the other, observant of the look. “I am not one of those doctors who refuse their own medicine.” A thought of surprise seemed to strike him. “But I run ahead of my manners,” cried he, with a quick laugh. “You charge me with a letter, and I return you a volley of exposition. I have not even offered you a seat. Pray accommodate yourself with one. And you knew my father, sir?” “I had not the honour. He was a friend of my lord viscount.”