“Like myself!” exclaimed Zouche, “I am not popular, and I never shall be. But I know how to make myself reputed as a great genius, and all the very respectable literary men are beginning to recognize me as such. Do you know why?” “Because you drink more than is good for you, my poor Zouche!” said Lotys tranquilly; “That is one reason!” “Hear her!” cried Zouche,--“Does she not always, like the Sphinx, propound enigmas! Lotys,--little, domineering Lotys, why in the name of Heaven should I secure recognition as a poet, through drunkenness?” “Because your vice kills your genius,” said Lotys; “Therefore you are quite safe! If you were less of a scamp you would be a great man,--perhaps the greatest in the country! That would never do! Your rivals would never forgive you! But you are a hopeless rascal, incapable of winning much honour; and so you are compassionately recognized as somebody who might do something if he only would--that is all, my Zouche! You are an excellent after-dinner topic with those who are more successful than yourself; and that is the only fame you will ever win, believe me!” “Now by all the gods and goddesses!” cried Paul--“I do protest----” “After supper, Zouche!” interrupted Lotys, as the door of the room opened, and a man entered, bearing a tray loaded with various eatables, jugs of beer, and bottles of spirituous liquors,--“Protest as much as you like then,--but not just now!” And with quick, deft hands she helped to set the board. None of the men offered to assist her, and Leroy watching her, felt a sudden sense of annoyance that this woman should seem, even for a moment, to be in the position of a servant to them all. “Can I do nothing for you?” he said, in a low tone--“Why should you wait upon us?” “Why indeed!” she answered--“Except that you are all by nature awkward, and do not know how to wait properly upon yourselves!”