"Yes," said the younger man, talking for the first time with an appearance of genuine interest in the conversation; "but things must be greatly changed since that time even in Paris, you know." "Changed? Not a bit of it. The outsides of course. The Louvre was half a ruin the other day, and now it's getting all right again. That's change, if you like to call it so. But the heart of things is just the same. Balzac stands for Paris, believe you me." "I don't believe a word of it--not a word! I mean--excuse me--that I don't agree with you." "Yes, yes: I understand what you mean. I'm not offended. Well?" "Well--I don't believe a bit that men and women ever were like that. You mean to tell me that people were made without hearts in Paris or anywhere else? Do you believe in a place peopled by cads and sneaks and curs--and the women half again as bad as the men?" The young man grew warm, and the elder drew him out, and they discussed Balzac as they stood in the balcony and looked down on silent moonlighted Paris. The elder man smoked and smiled and shrugged his shoulders good-humoredly. The younger was as full of gesture and animation as if his life depended on the controversy. "All right," the elder said at last. "I like to hear you talk, but Paris is Balzac to me still. Going to be in London some time?" "I suppose so: yes," in a tone of sudden depression and discontent. "I wish we might meet. I live in London, and I wish you would come and see me when we get back from our--holiday we'll call it." The young man turned half away and leaned on the balcony as if he were looking very earnestly for something in the direction of the Champs Elysees. Then he faced his companion suddenly and said, "I think you had much better not have anything to do with me: I should only prove a bore to you, or to anybody." "How is that?" "Well--in short, I'm a man with a grievance." "Ay, ay? What's your grievance? Whom has it to do with?" The young man looked up quickly, as if he did not quite understand the brusque ways of his new acquaintance, who put his questions so directly. But the new acquaintance seemed good-humored and quite at his ease, and evidently had not the least idea of being rude or over-inquisitive. He had only the way of one apparently used to ordering people about. "My grievance is against the Government," the young man said with a grave politeness, almost like self-assertion. "Government here: in France?" "No, no: our own Government." "Ay, ay? What have they been doing? _You_ haven't invented anything--new cannon--flying machine--that sort of thing?" "No: nothing of the kind--I wish I had--but how did you know?" "How did I know what?" "That I hadn't invented anything?" "Why, I knew it by looking at you. Do you think I shouldn't know an inventor? You might as well ask me how I know a man has been in the army. Well, about this grievance of yours?"