“That was in consequence of one of the new republican laws,” he went on to explain, growing animated. “They cannot comprehend here that a poor fellow must earn his living somehow. If I were not a cripple, I would work. But what harm do I do to anyone in the world by my singing? What does it mean? The rich can live as they wish, un pauvre tiaple like myself can’t live at all. What kind of laws are these republican ones? If that is the way they run, then we don’t want a republic: isn’t that so, my dear sir? We don’t want a republic, but we want⁠—we simply want⁠—we want”⁠—he hesitated a little⁠—“we want natural laws.”

I filled up his glass. “You are not drinking,” I said.

He took the glass in his hand, and bowed to me.

“I know what you wish,” he said, blinking his eyes at me, and threatening me with his finger. “You wish to make me drunk, so as to see what you can get out of me; but no, you shan’t have that gratification.”

“Why should I make you drunk?” I inquired. “All I wished was to give you a pleasure.”