Thus Paul de Manerville could not be classed amongst the great,
illustrious, and powerful family of fools who succeed. He would one
day be a deputy. For the time he was not even a young man. His friend,
De Marsay, defined him thus: "You ask me what is Paul? Paul? Why, Paul
de Manerville!"

"I am surprised, my dear fellow," he said to De Marsay, "to see you
here on a Sunday."

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"Is it an intrigue?"

"An intrigue."

"Bah!"

"I can mention it to you without compromising my passion. Besides, a
woman who comes to the Tuileries on Sundays is of no account,
aristocratically speaking."

"Ah! ah!"

"Hold your tongue then, or I shall tell you nothing. Your laugh is too
loud, you will make people think that we have lunched too well. Last
Thursday, here on the Terrasse des Feuillants, I was walking along,
thinking of nothing at all, but when I got to the gate of the Rue de
Castiglione, by which I intended to leave, I came face to face with a
woman, or rather a young girl; who, if she did not throw herself at my
head, stopped short, less I think, from human respect, than from one