This question being addressed to a decided doctrinaire, the answer was of course a reproachful shake of the head; but as it was accompanied by half a smile, and as the lady bent her fair neck towards the speaker, she, and she only, was made acquainted with "the best of all possible things," conveyed in a whisper. At another time he addressed himself to the lady of the house; but as he spoke across the circle, he not only fixed her attention, but that of every one else. "Madame!" said he coaxingly, "will you let me tell you a little word of treason?" "Comment?--de la trahison?... Apropos de quoi, s'il vous plaît?... Mais c'est égal--contez toujours." On receiving this answer, the whisperer of good stories got up from the depth of his arm-chair--an enterprise of some difficulty, for he was neither rapid nor light in his movements,--and deliberately walking round the chairs of all the party, he placed himself behind Madame de L*****, and whispered in her ear what made her colour and shake her head again; but she laughed too, telling him that she hated timid politics, and had no taste for any _trahisons_ which were not "_hautement prononcées_." This hint sent him back to his place; but it was taken very good-humouredly, for, instead of whispering any more, he uttered aloud sundry odds and ends of gossip, but all so well dressed up in lively wording, that they sounded very like good stories. LETTER XIX. Victor Hugo.--Racine. I have again been listening to some curious details respecting the present state of literature in France. I think I have before stated to you, that I have uniformly heard the whole of the _décousu_ school of authors spoken of with unmitigated contempt,--and that not only by the venerable advocates for the _bon vieux temps_, but also, and equally, by the distinguished men of the present day--distinguished both by position and ability. Respecting Victor Hugo, the only one of the tribe to which I allude who has been sufficiently read in England to justify his being classed by us as a person of general celebrity, the feeling is more remarkable still. I have never mentioned him or his works to any person of good moral feeling and cultivated mind, who did not appear to shrink from according him even the degree of reputation that those who are received as authority among our own critics have been disposed to allow him. I might say, that of him France seems to be ashamed. Again and again it has happened to me, when I have asked the opinions of individuals as to the merit of his different plays, that I have been answered thus:-- "I assure you I know nothing about it: I never saw it played." "Have you read it?" "No; I have not. I cannot read the works of Victor Hugo."