But he did not need that stimulant; for, whether because the snow had become too hard to be detached from the glacier, or because Monsieur de Boisguilbault, while seeming to listen, had heard nothing, the rash profession of faith of that child of the century was not interrupted and came to an end in the most profound silence. "Well, monsieur le marquis," said Emile, amazed by this listless toleration of his views, "do you subscribe to my opinions, or do they seem to you unworthy of being combated?" Monsieur de Boisguilbault did not reply; a wan smile played about his lips, which moved as if to speak but emitted only the problematical sigh. But he placed his hand on Emile's, and it seemed to the younger man that he felt a cool moisture, which imparted to that hand of stone some symptom of life. At last he rose and said: "We will take our coffee in the park.--For I am entirely of your opinion," he added after a pause, as if he were finishing aloud a sentence he had begun under his breath. "Really?" cried Emile, resolutely passing his arm through his host's. "Why not, pray?" rejoined the latter coolly. "Then all these things are indifferent to you?" "God grant it!" replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, with a more pronounced sigh than usual. XVII THAW Emile had as yet admired the park of Boisguilbault only over the hedges and through the gate. He was more than ever impressed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, by the luxuriance of the plants and their happy arrangement. Nature had done much, but art had seconded her with great taste and judgment. The sloping ground was diversified by innumerable picturesque irregularities, and an abundant spring, bubbling up among the rocks, sent forth streams in all directions, keeping all things green under the superb trees. The valley and the slope on the other side, which also belonged to the marquis, were covered with a dense vegetation which partly concealed the division walls and hedges, so that from all the elevated points, which afforded views of a beautiful and extensive landscape, the park seemed to extend to the horizon. "This is an enchanted spot," said Emile, "and one needs only to see it to be sure that you are a great poet." "There are many great poets of my sort," replied the marquis, "that is to say, people who feel poetry but cannot express it." "Is the spoken or written word alone interesting, I pray to know?" exclaimed Emile. "Is not the painter who nobly interprets nature a poet too? And if that is incontestable, does not the artist who actually improves upon nature, and modifies it in order to develop all its beauty,--does not he produce a grand poetic result?" "You express that very well," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault, in a tone of indolent indifference, which was not, however, wholly devoid of kindliness.