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The
master
of
the
house
began
to
look
very
anxious
.
"
The
shutters
are
not
shut
,
"
he
said
to
his
neighbour
in
a
semi
-
whisper
.
"
It
is
no
good
looking
out
of
the
window
,
"
he
stupidly
cried
to
Julien
—
"
so
here
I
am
more
or
less
mixed
up
in
a
conspiracy
,
"
thought
the
latter
.
"
Fortunately
it
is
not
one
of
those
which
lead
to
the
Place
-
de
-
Grève
.
Even
though
there
were
danger
,
I
owe
this
and
even
more
to
the
marquis
,
and
should
be
glad
to
be
given
the
chance
of
making
up
for
all
the
sorrow
which
my
madness
may
one
day
occasion
him
.
"
While
thinking
of
his
own
madness
and
his
own
unhappiness
he
regarded
the
place
where
he
was
,
in
such
a
way
as
to
imprint
it
upon
his
memory
for
ever
.
He
then
remembered
for
the
first
time
that
he
had
never
heard
the
lackey
tell
the
name
of
the
street
,
and
that
the
marquis
had
taken
a
fiacre
which
he
never
did
in
the
ordinary
way
.
Julien
was
left
to
his
own
reflections
for
a
long
time
.
He
was
in
a
salon
upholstered
in
red
velvet
with
large
pieces
of
gold
lace
.
A
large
ivory
crucifix
was
on
the
console
-
table
and
a
gilt
-
edged
,
magnificently
bound
copy
of
M
.
de
Maistre
’
s
book
The
Pope
was
on
the
mantelpiece
.
Julien
opened
it
so
as
not
to
appear
to
be
eavesdropping
.
From
time
to
time
they
talked
loudly
in
the
next
room
.
At
last
the
door
was
opened
and
he
was
called
in
.
"
Remember
,
gentlemen
,
"
the
president
was
saying
"
that
from
this
moment
we
are
talking
in
the
presence
of
the
duke
of
—
—
.
This
gentleman
,
"
he
said
,
pointing
to
Julien
,
"
is
a
young
acolyte
devoted
to
our
sacred
cause
who
by
the
aid
of
his
marvellous
memory
will
repeat
quite
easily
our
very
slightest
words
.
"
"
It
is
your
turn
to
speak
,
Monsieur
,
"
he
said
pointing
to
the
paternal
looking
personage
who
wore
three
or
four
waistcoats
.
Julien
thought
it
would
have
been
more
natural
to
have
called
him
the
gentleman
in
the
waistcoats
.
He
took
some
paper
and
wrote
a
great
deal
.
(
At
this
juncture
the
author
would
have
liked
to
have
put
a
page
of
dots
.
"
That
,
"
said
his
publisher
,
"
would
be
clumsy
and
in
the
case
of
so
light
a
work
clumsiness
is
death
.
"
"
Politics
,
"
replies
the
author
,
"
is
a
stone
tied
round
the
neck
of
literature
which
submerges
it
in
less
than
six
months
.
Politics
in
the
midst
of
imaginative
matter
is
like
a
pistol
shot
in
the
middle
of
a
concert
.
The
noise
is
racking
without
being
energetic
.
It
does
not
harmonise
with
the
sound
of
any
instrument
.
These
politics
will
give
mortal
offence
to
one
half
of
the
readers
and
will
bore
the
other
half
,
who
will
have
already
read
the
ideas
in
question
as
set
out
in
the
morning
paper
in
its
own
drastic
manner
.
"
"
If
your
characters
don
’
t
talk
politics
,
"
replied
the
publisher
,
"
they
cease
to
be
Frenchmen
of
1830
,
and
your
book
is
no
longer
a
mirror
as
you
claim
?
"
)
Julien
’
s
record
ran
to
twenty
-
six
pages
.
Here
is
a
very
diluted
extract
,
for
it
has
been
necessary
to
adopt
the
invariable
practice
of
suppressing
those
ludicrous
passages
,
whose
violence
would
have
seemed
either
offensive
or
intolerable
(
see
the
Gazette
des
Tribunaux
)
.
