“All right!” I responded carelessly, not wishing to offend him,—“Have it your own way! But, upon my word, to me it is all like devil’s magic!”
“What is?” he asked imperturbably.
“Everything!—the dancers,—the number of servants and pages—why, there must have been two or three hundred of them,—those wonderful ‘tableaux,’—the illuminations,—the supper,—everything I tell you!—and the most astonishing part of it now is, that all these people should have cleared out so soon!”
“Well, if you elect to call money devil’s magic, you are right,”—said Lucio.
“But surely in some cases, not even money could procure such perfection of detail”——I began.
“Money can procure anything!”—he interrupted, a thrill of passion vibrating in his rich voice,—“I told you that long ago. It is a hook for the devil himself. Not that the devil could be supposed to care about world’s cash personally,—but he generally conceives a liking for the company of the [p 288] man who possesses it;—possibly he knows what that man will do with it. I speak metaphorically of course,—but no metaphor can exaggerate the power of money. Trust no man or woman’s virtue till you have tried to purchase it with a round sum in hard cash! Money, my excellent Geoffrey, has done everything for you,—remember that!—you have done nothing for yourself.”
“That’s not a very kind speech,”—I said, somewhat vexedly.
“No? And why? Because it’s true? I notice most people complain of ‘unkindness’ when they are told a truth. It is true, and I see no unkindness in it. You’ve done nothing for yourself and you’re not expected to do anything—except,” and he laughed—“except just now to get to bed, and dream of the enchanting Sibyl!”
“I confess I am tired,”—I said, and an unconscious sigh escaped me—“And you?”
His gaze rested broodingly on the outer landscape.