Drawing himself up to his full height, young
Vergniaud confronted him in haughty amazement.
"Gentleman!" he cried--"What do you mean by the term? A loafer?--a
lounger in the streets?--a leerer at women? Or a man who works for
daily food from sunrise to sunset, and controls his lower passions
by hard and honest labour! Gentleman! What is that? Is it to live
lazily on the toil of others, or to be up and working one's self,
and to eat no bread that one has not earned? Will you answer me?"
"My dear sir, you must really excuse me!" said Petitot nervously--"
I am quite unable to enter into any sort of discussion with you on
these things! Please recollect that my life as a lawyer, depends
entirely on men's stupidities and hypocrisies,--if they all
entertained your views I should have to beg in the streets, or seek
another profession. In my present business I should have nothing
whatever to do. You perceive the position? Yes, of course you do!"
For Cyrillon with one of the quick changes of mood habitual to him,
smiled, as his temporary irritation passed like a cloud, and his
eyes softened--"You see, I am a machine,--educated to be a machine;
and I am set down to do certain machine-like duties,--and one of
these duties is,--regardless of your fame, your eccentric theories,
your special work which you have chosen to make for yourself in the
world,--to put you in possession of the money your father left you--
"
"Can you now--at once--" said Cyrillon suddenly--"give me enough
money to go to Rome to-night?"
Monsieur Petitot stared.
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