emotion we feel than in that which we excite.»
«That sounds like—like that «Maxims» gentleman—Rochefoucauld?
«It was Rochefoucauld.»
My vis-à-vis again was mute. Presently he said sharply and with it disagreeable note of laughter. «That isn't true, my dear sir!—that nice little French sentiment! At least I don't believe it is! Perhaps I am not enough of a philosopher—yet. I haven't time to be, though I would be glad to learn how.
With that, he turned the topic. We said no more as to friends, friendship or French philosophy. I was satisfied, however, that my new acquaintance was anything but a cynic, in spite of his dismissal, so cavalierly, of a subject on which he had entered with such abrupt confidentiality.
So had its course my breaking into an acquaintance... no, let me not use as burglarious and vehement a phrase, for we do not take the Kingdom of Friendship by violence even though
