"I arrived home but an hour ago;" said he, "and I have already received
a homily from Broisfresnay."
"He writes a great deal," observed Albert.
"Too much; he consumes himself in ink. He mentions a lot more of his
ridiculous projects and vain hopes, and he mentions a dozen names of men
of his own stamp who are his associates. On my word of honour, they seem
to have lost their senses! They talk of lifting the world, only
they want a lever and something to rest it on. It makes me die with
laughter!"
For ten minutes the count continued to discharge a volley of abuse and
sarcasm against his best friends, without seeming to see that a great
many of their foibles which he ridiculed were also a little his own.
"If," continued he more seriously,--"if they only possessed a little
confidence in themselves, if they showed the least audacity! But
no! they count upon others to do for them what they ought to do for
themselves. In short, their proceedings are a series of confessions of
helplessness, of premature declarations of failure."
The coffee having been served, the count made a sign, and the servants
left the room.
"No," continued he, "I see but one hope for the French aristocracy, but
one plank of salvation, one good little law, establishing the right of
primogeniture.
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