"I do not know what I mean, nor what she means, either!" exclaimed Paul, rising, and beginning to pace the floor.
"My dear Patoff," I said, "you made a grave mistake in making me find your brother. Excuse my abruptness, but that is my opinion."
He turned suddenly upon me, and his face was very pale, while his eyes gleamed disagreeably and his lip trembled.
"So you have noticed that, too," he said in a low voice. "Well—go on! What do you advise me to do? How am I to get him out of the way?"
"There can be no doubt that Balsamides would advise you to cut his throat," I replied. "As for me, I advise you to wait, and see what comes of it. He must soon go home and rejoin his regiment."
"Wait!" exclaimed Paul impatiently. "Wait! Yes,—and while I am waiting he will be working, and he will succeed! With that angel's face of his, he will certainly succeed! Besides, my mother will help him, as you know."
"Look here," said I. "Either Miss Carvel loves you, or she does not. If she does, she will not love your brother. If she does not love you, you had better not marry her. That is the reasonable view."
"No doubt,—no doubt. But I do not mean to be reasonable in that way. You forget that I love her. The argument might have some weight."
"Not much. After all, why do you love her? You do not know her well."
Paul stared at me as though he thought I were going mad. I dare say that I must have appeared to him to be perfectly insane. But I was disconcerted by the gravity of the situation, and I believed that he had a bad chance against Alexander. It was wiser to accustom his mind to the idea of failure than to flatter him with imaginary hopes of success. A man in love is either a hero or a fool; heroes who fail are generally called fools for their pains, and fools who succeed are sometimes called heroes. Paul stared, and turned away in silence.