“A fine example, old man? Is that your idea of a fine example?” Muniment, with his amused face, asked of Poupin. “A fine example of asininity! Are there capable people, in such plenty, about the place?” “Capable of greatness of soul, I grant you not.” “Your greatness of soul is usually greatness of blundering. A man’s foremost duty is not to get collared. If you want to show you’re capable, that’s the way.” At this Hyacinth suddenly felt himself moved to speak. “But some one must be caught, always, must he not? Hasn’t some one always been?” “Oh, I dare say you’ll be, if you like it!” Muniment replied, without looking at him. “If they succeed in potting you, do as Hoffendahl did, and do it as a matter of course; but if they don’t, make it your supreme duty, make it your religion, to lie close and keep yourself for another go. The world is full of unclean beasts whom I shall be glad to see shovelled away by the thousand; but when it’s a question of honest men and men of courage, I protest against the idea that two should be sacrificed where one will serve.” “_Trop d’arithmétique—trop d’arithmétique!_ That is fearfully English!” Poupin cried. “No doubt, no doubt; what else should it be? You shall never share my fate, if I have a fate and I can prevent it!” said Muniment, laughing. Eustache Poupin stared at him and his merriment, as if he thought the English frivolous as well as calculating; then he rejoined, “If I suffer, I trust it may be for suffering humanity, but I trust it may also be for France.” “Oh, I hope you ain’t going to suffer any more for France,” said Mr Griffin. “Hasn’t it done that insatiable old country of yours some good, by this time, all you’ve had to put up with?” “Well, I want to know what Hoffendahl has come over for; it’s very kind of him, I’m sure. What is he going to do for _us?_—that’s what _I_ want to know,” remarked in a loud, argumentative tone a personage at the end of the table most distant from Muniment’s place. His name was Delancey, and he gave himself out as holding a position in a manufactory of soda-water; but Hyacinth had a secret belief that he was really a hairdresser—a belief connected with a high, lustrous curl, or crest, which he wore on the summit of his large head, and the manner in which he thrust over his ear, as if it were a barber’s comb, the pencil with which he was careful to take notes of the discussions carried on at the ‘Sun and Moon’. His opinions were distinct and frequently expressed; he had a watery (Muniment had once called it a soda-watery) eye, and a personal aversion to a lord. He desired to change everything except religion, of which he approved.