Isaura, who had hitherto attended very listlessly to the conversation, bowed assent. "Any friend of yours will be welcome. But I own the articles signed in the name of Pierre Firmin do not prepossess me in favour of their author." "Why so?" asked Louvier; "surely you are not an Imperialist?" "Nay, I do not pretend to be a politician at all, but there is something in the writing of Pierre Firmin that pains and chills me." "Yet the secret of its popularity," said Savarin, "is that it says what every one says--only better." "I see now that it is exactly that which displeases me; it is the Paris talk condensed into epigram: the graver it is the less it elevates--the lighter it is, the more it saddens." "That is meant to hit me," said Savarin, with his sunny laugh--"me whom you call cynical." "No, dear M. Savarin; for above all your cynicism is genuine gaiety, and below it solid kindness. You have that which I do not find in M. de Mauleon's writing, nor often in the talk of the salon--you have youthfulness." "Youthfulness at sixty--flatterer!" "Genius does not count its years by the almanac," said Mrs. Morley. "I know what Isaura means--she is quite right; there is a breath of winter in M. de Mauleon's style, and an odour of fallen leaves. Not that his diction wants vigour; on the contrary, it is crisp with hoar-frost. But the sentiments conveyed by the diction are those of a nature sear and withered. And it is in this combination of brisk words and decayed feelings that his writing represents the talk and mind of Paris. He and Paris are always fault-finding: fault-finding is the attribute of old age." Colonel Morley looked round with pride, as much as to say, "Clever talker my wife." Savarin understood that look, and replied to it courteously. "Madame has a gift of expression which Emile de Girardin can scarcely surpass. But when she blames us for fault-finding, can she expect the friends of liberty to praise the present style of things?" "I should be obliged to the friends of liberty," said the Colonel, drily, "to tell me how that state of things is to be mended. I find no enthusiasm for the Orleanists, none for a Republic; people sneer at religion; no belief in a cause, no adherence to an opinion. But the worst of it is that, like all people who are _blases_, the Parisians are eager for strange excitement, and ready to listen to any oracle who promises a relief from indifferentism. This it is which makes the Press more dangerous in France than it is in any other country. Elsewhere the Press sometimes leads, sometimes follows, public opinion. Here there is no public opinion to consult, and instead of opinion the Press represents passion." "My dear Colonel Morley," said Savarin, "I hear you very often say that a Frenchman cannot understand America. Permit me to observe that an American cannot understand France--or at least Paris. _Apropos_ of Paris that is a large speculation of yours, Louvier, in the new suburb."