“Yes, something in that shape,” the Duke answered, “and they tell how through its proper employment, always under the great law of living, our house has got much pleasure and prosperity. And it is certain the Collyn aids us at need—”
“What is the Collyn?”
“Nothing suitable for a boy of ten to know about. When you are a man I shall have to tell you, Florian. That will be soon enough.”
“And what, monsieur my father, is this great law of living?”
The Duke looked for a while at his son rather queerly. “Thou shalt not offend,” the Duke replied, “against the notions of thy neighbor.”
With that he was silent: and, rising at last from the bench, he walked across the lawn, and ascended the broad curving marble stairway which led to the south terrace of Storisende. And Florian, following, was for an instant quiet, and a little puzzled.
“Yes, monseigneur my father, but I do not see—”
The Duke turned, an opulent figure in dark blue and gold. He was standing by one of the tall vases elaborately carved with garlands, the vases that in summer overflowed with bright red and yellow flowers: these vases were now empty, and the gardeners had replaced the carved lids.
“Youth never sees the reason of that law, my son. I am wholly unprepared to say whether or not this is a lucky circumstance.” The Duke again paused, looking thoughtfully across the terrace, toward the battlemented walls and the four towers of the southern façade. His gazing seemed to go well beyond the fountain and the radiating low hedges and gravelled walkways of the terrace, to go beyond, for that matter, the darkening castle. Twilight was rising: you saw a light in one window. “At all events, we are home again, young dreamer. I too was once a dreamer. And at all events, there is Little Brother waiting for us.”