"Solonge de Clerté?—Daisy Ryven?—both with husbands—."
"Not as if that prevented things" the Duchesse announced reflectively—"Well, well—Some of my blessés show just your symptoms, Nicholas, and I discover almost immediately it is because they are in love—with the brain—with the imagination you must understand—that is the only dangerous kind—. When it is with a pretty face alone—a good dose and a new book helps greatly."
"There would be no use in my being in love, Duchesse—"
"It would depend upon the woman—you want sympathy and a guiding hand—Va!—"
Sympathy and a guiding hand!
"I liked ruling and leading when I was a man—"
"——We all have our ups and downs—I like my own bed—but last night an extra batch of blessés came in—and I had to give it up to one whose back was a mass of festers—he would have lain on the floor else—. What will you—hein?—We have to learn to accommodate ourselves to conditions, my son."
Suddenly the picture of this noble woman's courage came to me vividly, her unvarying resourcefulness—her common sense—her sympathy with humanity—her cheerfulness—I never heard her complain or repine, even when fate took her only son at Verdun—Such as these are the glory of France—and Coralie and Odette and Alice seemed to melt into nothingness—.
"The war will be finished this autumn—" she told me presently—"and then our difficult time will begin—. Quarrels for all the world—Not good fighting—But you will live to see a Renaissance, Nicholas—and so prepare for it."
"What can I do, dear friend—If you knew how much I want to do something!"