There never has been one, I should imagine, in the whole history of the world where people have had to put up with such contempt as in the private office of certain great bankers. You talk of evil instincts and evil passions. Well, the power of the wealthy middle class is not calculated to elevate the mind. When the higher ranks of society are engaged in digesting and placing out money there are no longer any ideas, nothing in fact but appetites, in the class below. Formerly, when by the side of money there was something above it and beyond it, during a revolution instead of asking bluntly for money--clumsy rough coins with which to buy their happiness--the people contented themselves with asking for the change of colours on a flag, or with having a few words written over a guard-house, or even with glorious victories that were quite hollow. But in our times--oh, we all know where the heart of Paris is now. The bank would be besieged instead of the Hotel de ville. Ah, the _bourgeoisie_ has made a great mistake!" "And what is the mistake, pray?" asked M. Bourjot, astounded by Denoisel's tirade. "That of not leaving Paradise in heaven--which was certainly its place. The day when the poor could no longer comfort themselves with the thought that the next life would make up to them for this, the day when the people gave up counting on the happiness of the other world--oh, I can tell you, Voltaire did a lot of harm to the wealthy classes----" "Ah, you are right there!" exclaimed M. Bourjot, impulsively. "That is quite evident. All these wretches ought to go to church regularly----" XXXII There was a grand ball at the Bourjots' in honour of the approaching marriage of their daughter with M. Mauperin de Villacourt. "You are going in for it to-day. How you are dancing!" said Renee to Noemi, fanning her as she stood talking in a corner of the vast drawing-room. "I have never danced so much, that's quite true," answered Noemi, taking her friend's arm and leading her away into the small drawing-room. "No, never," she continued, drawing Renee to her and kissing her. "Oh, how lovely it is to be happy," and then kissing her again in a perfect fever of joy, she said: "_She_ does not care for him now. Oh, I'm quite sure she doesn't care for him. In the old days I could see she did by the very way she got up when he came; by her eyes, her voice, the very rustle of her dress, everything. Then when he wasn't there, I could tell by her silence she was thinking of him. You are surprised at my noticing, silly thing that I am; but there are some things that I understand with this"--and she drew Renee's hand on to her white moire dress just where her heart was--"and this never deceives me." "And you love him now, do you?" asked Renee. Noemi stopped her saying any more by pressing her bouquet of roses against her friend's lips.