The Comte de Passavant had been terribly put out by Edouard’s visit. He heaved a sigh of relief when Strouvilhou came into the room. Although Strouvilhou, on his side, was perfectly able to hold his own, Passavant felt at ease with him--or, to be more accurate, treated him in a free and easy manner. No doubt his opponent was by no means despicable, but he considered himself his match, and piqued himself on proving it. “My dear Strouvilhou, take a seat,” said he, pushing an arm-chair towards him. “I am really glad to see you again.” “Monsieur le Comte sent for me. Here I am entirely at his service.” Strouvilhou liked affecting a kind of flunkey’s insolence with Passavant, but Passavant knew him of old. “Let’s get to the point; it’s time to come out into the open. You’ve already tried your hand at a good many trades.... I thought to-day of proposing you an actual dictatorship--only in the realms of literature, let us hasten to add.” “A pity!” Then, as Passavant held out his cigarette case: “If you’ll allow me, I prefer....” “I’ll allow nothing of the kind. Your horrid contraband cigars make the room stink. I can’t understand how anyone can smoke such stuff.” “Oh! I don’t pretend that I rave about them. But they’re a nuisance to one’s neighbours.” “Playful as ever?” “Not altogether an idiot, you know.” And without replying directly to Passavant’s proposal, Strouvilhou thought proper to establish his positions; afterwards he would see. He went on: “Philanthropy was never one of my strong points.” “I know, I know,” said Passavant. “Nor egoism either. That’s what you don’t know.... People want to make us believe that man’s single escape from egoism is a still more disgusting altruism! As for me, I maintain that if there’s anything more contemptible and more abject than a man, it’s a lot of men. No reasoning will ever persuade me that the addition of a number of sordid units can result in an enchanting total. I never happen to get into a tram or a train without hoping that a good old accident will reduce the whole pack of living garbage to a pulp; yes, good Lord! and myself into the bargain. I never enter a theatre without praying that the chandelier may come crashing down, or that a bomb may go off; and even if I had to be blown up too, I’d be only too glad to bring it along in my coat pocket--if I weren’t reserving myself for something better. You were saying?...” “No, nothing; go on, I’m listening. You’re not one of those orators who need the stimulus of contradiction to keep them going.” “The fact is, I thought I heard you offer me some of your incomparable port.” Passavant smiled. “Keep the bottle beside you,” he said, as he passed it to him. “Empty it if you like, but talk.” Strouvilhou filled his glass, sat comfortably back in his big arm-chair and began: