Ancient religions were but the unchecked development of physical
pleasure, but we have developed a soul and expectations; some advance
has been made."
"What can you expect, my friends, of a century filled with politics to
repletion?" asked Nathan. "What befell _The History of the King of
Bohemia and his Seven Castles_, a most entrancing conception? . . ."
"I say," the would-be critic cried down the whole length of the table.
"The phrases might have been drawn at hap-hazard from a hat, 'twas a
work written 'down to Charenton.'"
"You are a fool!"
"And you are a rogue!"
"Oh! oh!"
"Ah! ah!"
"They are going to fight."
"No, they aren't."
"You will find me to-morrow, sir."
"This very moment," Nathan answered.
"Come, come, you pair of fire-eaters!"
"You are another!" said the prime mover in the quarrel.
"Ah, I can't stand upright, perhaps?" asked the pugnacious Nathan,
straightening himself up like a stag-beetle about to fly.
He stared stupidly round the table, then, completely exhausted by the
effort, sank back into his chair, and mutely hung his head.
"Would it not have been nice," the critic said to his neighbor, "to
fight about a book I have neither read nor seen?"
"Emile, look out for your coat; your neighbor is growing pale," said
Bixiou.
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