“He is a sentimentalist turned man of action. When this miracle can be accomplished, you may expect a very decided, even implacable, character—because it is much more difficult to crush one's poetry than to crush one's passions. The passions are more or less physical, they depend on many material conditions or accidents; but poetry, ideals, romance and the like belong to the spirit. I find a great campaign is being waged everywhere against the soul. It is a universal movement—the only things considered now are the pocket and the brain and the liver.”
“Delightful!” said Sara, trying to speak calmly; “and will Orange become a liver-devotee?”
“You don't understand self-discipline, chérie,” answered the Princess; “that seems a sealed mystery to most people except the Catholics and the Buddhists. Protestants never speak of it, never think of it. Their education is all for self-concealment. If I read M. de Hausée rightly, he will become no colourless, emasculated being, but certainly a man with a silent heart. When he has a grievance he will take it to God—never to his friends.”
Prince d'Alchingen stifled a yawn and offered Sara a cigarette, which she refused, although she had acquired the habit of smoking during her visits to Russia.
“If you will both swear,” said he, “to keep a secret, I can tell you one.”
The old and the young lady flushed alike with delight at the prospect of hearing some strange news.
“It will come well,” he continued, “after my wife's prophetic remarks. Mrs. Parflete went alone to Orange's lodgings on Wednesday last at six o'clock.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed the Princess.
Sara, feeling the Prince's dissecting glance burning into her countenance, grew white and red by turns.
“What a temperament! what jealousy!” thought d'Alchingen.