"As for stealing"--the rich voice continued, with calm judicial
slowness--"I can understand a man's cheating the state once,
perhaps--yielding to an impulse of cupidity. But to do as _ce_
Monsieur Filon has done--he must be a consummate master of his
art--for his processes are organized robbery."

"Ah--h, but robbery against the state isn't the same thing as robbing
an individual," cried the explosive, driven into a corner.

"It is quite the same--morally, only worse. For a man who robs the
state robs everyone--including himself."

"That's true--perfectly true--and very well put." All the heads about
the table nodded admiringly; their hostess had expressed the views of
them all. The company was looking now at the gray beard with glistening
eyes; he had proved himself master of the argument, and all were
desirous of proving their homage. Not one of the nice ethical points
touched on had been missed; even the women had been eagerly listening,
following, criticising. Here was a little company of people gathered
together from rustic France, meeting, perhaps, for the first time at
this board. And the conversation had, from the very beginning, been
such as one commonly expects to hear only among the upper ranks of
metropolitan circles. Who would have looked to see a company of Norman
provincials talking morality, and handling ethics with the skill of
rhetoricians?

Most of our fellow-diners, meanwhile, were taking their coffee in the
street. Little tables were ranged close to the house-wall. There was
just room for a bench beside the table, and then the sidewalk ended.