'You will thus,' said he, at the close of a clever description; 'you will thus, at the very threshold of life, enjoy what the luckiest rarely attain till later on--the choice of what road you will take. If the splendour of a court life attract you, you can be a courtier; if the ambitions of statesmanship engross your mind, you are sure of office; if you aspire to military glory, here is your shortest road to it; or if,' said he, with a graceful melancholy, 'you can submit yourself to be a mere guest at the banquet of life, and never a host--one whose place at the table is assigned him, not taken by right--such, in a word, as I am--why, then, the Abbé's frock is an easy dress, and a safe passport besides.'
With a sort of unintentional carelessness, that seemed frankness itself, the Abbé glided into a little narrative of his own early life, and how, with a wide choice of a career before him, he had, half in indolence, half in self-indulgence, adopted the gown.
'Stern thinkers call men like me mere idlers in the vineyard, drones in the great human hive: but we are not; we have our uses just as every other luxury. We are to society what the bouquet is to the desert; our influence on mankind is not the less real, that its exercise attracts little notice.'
'And what am I to be, what to do?' asked Gerald proudly.
'Imagine the Marquise de Bauffremont to be Royalty, and you are a courtier; you are of her household, in attendance on her great receptions; you accompany her on visits of ceremony--your rank securing you all the deference that is accorded to birth, and admission to the first circles in Paris.'
'Is not this service menial?' asked he quickly.
'It is not thus the world regards it. The Melcours, the Frontignards, the Montrouilles are to be found at this moment in these ranks.'
'But they are recognised by these very names,' cried Gerald; 'but who knows _me_, or what title do _I_ bear?'
'You will be the Chevalier de Fitzgerald; the Marquise has influence enough at court to have the title confirmed. Believe me,' added he, smiling blandly, 'everything has been provided for--all forethought taken already.'
'But shall I be free to abandon this--servitude' (the word would out, though he hesitated to utter it)--'if I find it onerous or unpleasant? Am I under no obligation or pledge?'