“And what next?” Madame Goesler, as she thus interrogated him, was leaning across towards him from the sofa on which she was placed, with both her elbows resting on a small table before her.  We all know that look of true interest which the countenance of a real friend will bear when the welfare of his friend is in question.  There are doubtless some who can assume it without feeling,—­as there are actors who can personate all the passions.  But in ordinary life we think that we can trust such a face, and that we know the true look when we see it.  Phineas, as he gazed into Madame Goesler’s eyes, was sure that the lady opposite him was not acting.  She at least was anxious for his welfare, and was making his cares her own.  “What next?” said she, repeating her words in a tone that was somewhat hurried.

“I do not know that there will be any next.  As far as public life is concerned, there will be no next for me, Madame Goesler.”

“That is out of the question,” she said.  “You are made for public life.”

“Then I shall be untrue to my making, I fear.  But to speak plainly—­”

“Yes; speak plainly.  I want to understand the reality.”

“The reality is this.  I shall keep my seat to the end of the session, as I think I may be of use.  After that I shall give it up.”

“Resign that too?” she said in a tone of chagrin.

“The chances are, I think, that there will be another dissolution.  If they hold their own against Mr. Monk’s motion, then they will pass an Irish Reform Bill.  After that I think they must dissolve.”

“And you will not come forward again?”

“I cannot afford it.”

“Psha!  Some five hundred pounds or so!”

“And, besides that, I am well aware that my only chance at my old profession is to give up all idea of Parliament.  The two things are not compatible for a beginner at the law.  I know it now, and have bought my knowledge by a bitter experience.”

“And where will you live?”

“In Dublin, probably.”

“And you will do,—­will do what?”

“Anything honest in a barrister’s way that may be brought to me.  I hope that I may never descend below that.”

“You will stand up for all the blackguards, and try to make out that the thieves did not steal?”

“It may be that that sort of work may come in my way.”

“And you will wear a wig and try to look wise?”

“The wig is not universal in Ireland, Madame Goesler.”

“And you will wrangle, as though your very soul were in it, for somebody’s twenty pounds?”

“Exactly.”

“You have already made a name in the greatest senate in the world, and have governed other countries larger than your own—­”

“No;—­I have not done that.  I have governed no country.

“I tell you, my friend, that you cannot do it.  It is out of the question.  Men may move forward from little work to big work; but they cannot move back and do little work, when they have had tasks which were really great.  I tell you, Mr. Finn, that the House of Parliament is the place for you to work in.  It is the only place;—­that and the abodes of Ministers.  Am not I your friend who tell you this?”