"I understand!" I cried. "By not giving an opinion you tell me
energetically enough what I ought to do."
On this there came a stir throughout the assembly.
A capitalist who had subscribed for the children and tomb of General
Foy exclaimed:--
"Like Virtue's self, a crime has its degrees."
"Rash tongue!" said the former minister, in a low voice, nudging me
with his elbow.
"Where's your difficulty?" asked a duke whose fortune is derived from
the estates of stubborn Protestants, confiscated on the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes.
The lawyer rose, and said:--
"In law, the case submitted to us presents no difficulty. Monsieur le
duc is right!" cried the legal organ. "There are time limitations.
Where should we all be if we had to search into the origin of
fortunes? This is simply an affair of conscience. If you must
absolutely carry the case before some tribunal, go to that of the
confessional."
The Code incarnate ceased speaking, sat down, and drank a glass of
champagne. The man charged with the duty of explaining the gospel, the
good priest, rose.
"God has made us all frail beings," he said firmly. "If you love the
heiress of that crime, marry her; but content yourself with the
property she derives from her mother; give that of the father to the
poor.
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