"Have you read the second volume of the 'History of the Peasant?" he asked, in order to reënter the conversation. "One might apply to the author the epigram of Mme. de Staël concerning our compatriot Monnier, whom she found 'passionately sensible.'" "Passionately," echoed one of the women insinuatingly. "It is glowing and accurate. It has had great success and has been translated into every language, like his 'History of the Workman.'" Mme. Passerat interrupted: "We are not questioning his talent." "The Duchess of Béard who is very clever, uses it as her prayer book. M. and Mme. Derize used to dine with her." "He knows how to plead," thought Counselor Prémereux. "The Béards are one of the great families of France and one of the oldest. But how do we distinguish the great families nowadays? Not always by titles; that would be a great mistake. They are known by their traditions of honor and of gentleness. And it is exactly that which one meets while in the home of the Derizes." This daring was answered by a chorus of protest: "You are M. Derize's friend!" "His lawyer!" "You are defending him!" "That is your profession!" Mme. de Vimelle, her nose as sharp as a razor blade, had given vent to this last answer. "At your service," replied Philippe. "But who is there that does not need to be defended?" And he took advantage of the movement toward the refreshments to take his leave. M. Prémereux rejoined him on the staircase. "I fear you have made some enemies," suggested the prudent counselor. The barrister, who had been amused by the fencing match smiled complacently: "That is preferable to women's indifference." To prolong the conversation he added: "I will go with you as far as the Place Grenette." And he immediately resumed: "Why this haste in judging? They praise one, crush another without understanding even the underlying principles of debate." "That all comes from Mme. Derize's call," explained M. Prémereux. "Nothing more is necessary to focus their criticism." They reached the City Park, the shade of which, after the sunny roads, brought them a breath of cool air. It is a little park like those of England, where the trees, young elms and plane trees, mingle their branches above the damp green lawns. A black swan with a red beak was swimming on a little pond to reach the tiny island where his little house was built. Water could be heard trickling from a fountain. An avenue of lime trees in flower shed their intoxicating scent like a fine dust. At this warm hour of the day, the garden was a refuge of peace, softness and sweet reveries. The counselor took off his hat to enjoy this pleasant sensation, but Philippe Lagier resisted these natural influences. "No," said he, without removing his hat, "I will tell you what shocks society. It is when one presumes to ignore it." "You are right," agreed the old judge. But Philippe did not hear him.