But, indeed, beneath his dangerous irony there was a strain of
impishness, and he would, if need be, laugh at his own troubles,
and torture himself as he had tortured others. This morning he
was full of a carbolic humour. As the razor came to his neck he
said:

"Voban, a barber must have patience. It is a sad thing to
mistake friend for enemy. What is a friend? Is it one who says
sweet words?"

There was a pause, in which the shaving went on, and then he
continued:

"Is it he who says, I have eaten Voban's bread, and Voban shall
therefore go to prison, or be hurried to Walhalla? Or is it he who
stays the iron hand, who puts nettles in Voban's cold, cold bed,
that he may rise early and go forth among the heroes?"

I do not think Voban understood that, through some freak of purpose,
Doltaire was telling him thus obliquely he had saved him from
Bigot's cruelty, from prison or death. Once or twice he glanced at
me, but not meaningly, for Doltaire was seated opposite a mirror,
and could see each motion made by either of us. Presently Doltaire
said to me idly:

"I dine to-day at the Seigneur Duvarney's. You will be glad to
hear that mademoiselle bids fair to rival the charming Madame
Cournal. Her followers are as many, so they say, and all in one
short year she has suddenly thrown out a thousand new faculties and
charms. Doubtless you remember she was gifted, but who would have