Our oppressors, for instance, preach to us of the excellence of gratitude.
Gratitude, the confession of inferiority! What so hateful to a noble spirit as the humiliating sense of obligation?
But where there is equality there can be no means for power thus to enslave merit.

The benefactor and the client will alike cease, and--" "And in the mean time," said a low voice, at hand,--"in the mean time, Jean Nicot ?" The two artists started, and Glyndon recognised Zanoni.
He gazed with a brow of unusual sternness on Nicot, who, lumped together as he sat, looked up at him askew, and with an expression of fear and dismay upon his distorted countenance.
Ho, ho! Messire Jean Nicot, thou who fearest neither God nor Devil, why fearest thou the eye of a man?
"It is not the first time I have been a witness to your opinions on the infirmity of gratitude," said Zanoni.
Nicot suppressed an exclamation, and, after gloomily surveying Zanoni with an eye villanous and sinister, but full of hate impotent and unutterable, said, "I know you not,--what would you of me ?" "Your absence.

Leave us!" Nicot sprang forward a step, with hands clenched, and showing his teeth from ear to ear, like a wild beast incensed.

Zanoni stood motionless, and smiled at him in scorn.

Nicot halted abruptly, as if fixed and fascinated by the look, shivered from head to foot, and sullenly, and with a visible effort, as if impelled by a power not his own, turned away.
Glyndon's eyes followed him in surprise.
"And what know you of this man ?" said Zanoni.
"I know him as one like myself,--a follower of art." "Of ART! Do not so profane that glorious word.