I can easily imagine them, these noble pheasant hunters, decked out in their colorful costumes reminiscent of those of that old aristocracy of which they are the legitimate modern heirs. I can easily imagine them saying to each other: “But why don’t they understand, these bumpkins, that we have the strictest right to celebrate our superiority, our distinction, our class?” What don’t they understand in the fact that the rules don’t apply to us, that we are above the condition of the people? We owe nothing to anyone, our wealth depends only on us. And this little people who rise up should rather be grateful to us for allowing them to admire and envy us. »
Finally, on their private and protected island, these noble hunters probably have only one thing to be wary of: their arrogance.
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