"Do you and your housekeeper live alone in this house?" asked the Marquis suddenly, with a gloomy air, passing between his hands the precious manuscript, as if he wished to appropriate it to himself. "Can it be that he is so enthusiastic in his admiration of Persius that he means to assassinate me and steal my manuscript?" queried the councillor of himself. But the Marquis, putting the manuscript back into his hands, exclaimed vehemently: "For the love of Heaven, sir, hide it, hide it! . . . Pardon a madman!" And he ran precipitately from the room, covering his eyes with his hands. The councillor shut up his treasure, and found his guest seated, looking dejected, in the library. "What's the matter, young man?" said the savant with interest. "Alas! sir, pardon me! At the sight of that manuscript an infamous, a monstrous thought took possession of me . . . in spite of the holy law of hospitality." "You would then rob me of my treasure?" Létorière bowed his head in embarrassment. "Never mind, my young friend. I understand you . . . I understand you only too well," said the councillor, heaving a sigh. "It is a great compliment you have just rendered to our author; and if you only knew the history of this manuscript," . . . after a moment's silence, he added, "you would see that I ought to excuse the terrible temptation which you have just been enabled to overcome." Unfortunately, the confidence of the councillor stopped there. The two friends passed the remainder of the day in a learned analysis of the judgments of Casaubon, of Koenig, and Ruperti, on their favorite poet. They discovered in him hidden beauties which had escaped all the editors. Létorière, by a happy chance of memory, raised the admiration of Sphex almost to ecstasy, by calling his attention to the fact that this passage in the third satire, "The lessons of the portico in which is depicted the overthrow of the Medes," relates to Zeno, the chief of the Stoics. In one word, in this long and learned conversation, Létorière, admirably assisted by his memory, by the profound study which he had recently devoted to Persius, at Dominique's recommendation, and by the surprising flexibility of his intelligence, completely captivated Sphex. Yet not one word of the lawsuit had been spoken on either side. The Marquis was silent from prudence, the councillor from embarrassment; for, however well-disposed he might be towards Létorière, he reflected regretfully that his voice alone could not win the cause for his young _protégé._ "What a pity!" cried the councillor, "that you will leave Vienna so soon. We would have passed long and delightful days in ever-fresh admiration of our god, and we would have said, like him: "'Unum opus et requiem pariter disponimus ambo, Atque verecunda laxamus seria mensa.'"[13] "I feel this privation as much as you do, sir. Unhappily we must sacrifice our pleasures to our duties." And Létorière arose.