"I wish to do something for you." "That is a good idea; have you any influence?" "Yes, much more than you doubtless think." "Then render me a service." "What? Speak. I shall be glad to acquit myself of what I owe you." "Bah! That is nothing; do not let us speak of it." "On the contrary, let us talk about it." "No, no, I beg you; rather render me the service which I ask of you." "What?" "Then procure me, this very evening, a respectable escort, so that I may without danger reach Buenos Aires." "What do you wish to do at Buenos Aires?" "To embark by the first ship which sets sail, in order to fly as soon as possible from this frightful country, where they only talk politics, and where life has so many tragic elements that it becomes insupportable to any man who, like me, lives only for art." "Have you finished?" asked the diplomatist. "Nearly; it only remains for me to add, that if you render me this immense service, you will make me the happiest of men, and I shall be eternally grateful to you. What I ask is easy, it appears to me." "Yes, it is easy enough." "Then I may count on your kindness?" "I do not say that." "What, you refuse me?" "For your good; in your interest I ought to do so." "Parbleu! That is good!" cried the artist, quite disappointed. "I know better than yourself what is good for you; let me explain myself." "Speak, but I warn you beforehand, that you will not succeed in convincing me." "Perhaps. I was saying, then, when you interrupted me," resumed he, imperturbably, "that you please me. Called by the confidence of the enlightened men who play the foremost parts in the glorious revolution of this noble country to occupy a high place in their counsels, I want near me an honest intelligent man, in whom I can trust, who understands Spanish--which I do not--and which I am told to learn; in a word, who will be devoted to me, and who will be rather a friend than a secretary. This man, after mature reflection, I have chosen--it is you." "I?" "Yes, my friend." "Thank you for the preference." "Then you accept." "I! I refuse--I refuse with all my might." "Come, you are not serious." "My dear Monsieur Dubois, I do not joke about such things--they are too serious." "Bah! Bah! You will reflect." "My reflections are made, my resolution immovable; I repeat that I refuse. Why, there seems to be an epidemic! Everybody is obstinately trying to make me against my will a man of politics; it's enough, upon my honour, to drive me mad." The diplomatist slightly shrugged his shoulders, and, tapping the painter on the arm in a friendly way-- "Sleep upon it," said he; "tomorrow you will answer me." And he turned away to leave him. "But I swear to you--" said Émile. "I will listen to nothing," interrupted he; "dance, amuse yourself; tomorrow you will talk." And he left him.