“My good Reveillon,” he said at length, “yesterday it was decreed that the deputies of the third state should equal in number those of the nobility and of the clergy put together. That was a momentous concession, was it not? Also, the eligibility for election, into the second order, of curés, and into the Tiers Etat of Protestants, was made known--truly all subjects for popular rejoicing. Doubtless, then, your employés, leaning out of the windows of the paper factory in the Rue St Antoine” (“They could not,” thought Ned. “I know the place. Every window is barred.”), “tossed their caps into the street, into the air--anywhere but into your face, crying _Vive Necker_ and _A bas les notables_!” “It is always for you to claim the privilege to speak, as you paint, enigmas,” said the other, with a certain excited insolence of tone. He was flushed with aggravation under the hard inquisition of the eyes that had so deliberately taken his measure. “True enough, the rascals showed enthusiasm,” he cried. “And what then, M. David?” “Why, you would drive them to work again, would you not, when the effervescence was subsided?” “Assuredly. What is any effervescence but bubbles that break and vanish? Their business is not to discuss politics but to roll paper, as it is yours to cover the sheets with hieroglyphics (that, I confess, I do not understand) when prepared. Well, monsieur, you get your price and they theirs. Does yours satisfy you? But it might not if I charged the stuff you buy of me with the interest of time lost over irresponsible chatter on the part of my employés.” “Surely, my friend, here is a little spark to produce an explosion.” “Oh, monsieur! I can read between the lines, and I am not ignorant of what may be implied in a sneer. You are _peintre du Roi_, M. David; you have chambers at the Louvre, M. David. That is very well; and it is also very well to subordinate your convictions to your prosperity, so long as the sun of royalty shines on you.” “Be very careful to pick your words, my pleasant Reveillon,” said the painter, already, in some emotion of self-suppression, articulating with difficulty. “Why?” said the paper-maker, waning cool as the other gathered heat. “Is it not true, then, that you are a democrat?” “What has that to do with the question?” “It has everything, monsieur, if I am to understand your innuendoes. It signifies, of course, your dogmatic advocacy of the labour, as opposed to the capital side of industrial economy. It signifies that, in your opinion, it is tyranny to enforce discipline upon any body of men who congregate for other than belligerent purposes, and that any popular demonstration may serve Jack Smith as excuse for neglecting his work, but not Jack Smith’s master for docking the absentee’s wages.” “They are always little enough,” said M. David, still very indistinct. “And I throw the word in your teeth!” cried the paper-maker hotly in his turn.