"What?"
"A Communist—a Socialist. You know what that is. You would like to level my house to the ashes, I fancy, by the look on your face."
"No," she said, simply, with a taint of scorn, "I do not care to do that. If I had cared to burn anything it would have been the Flandrins' village. It is odd that you should live in a palace and he should want for bread; but then he can create things, and you can only buy them. So it is even, perhaps."
The old man smiled, amused.
"You are no respecter of persons, that is certain. Come in another chamber and take some wine, and break your fast. There will be many things here that you never saw or tasted."
She shook her head.
"The thought is good of you," she said, more gently than she had before spoken. "But I never took a crust out of charity, and I will not begin."
"Charity! Do you call an invitation a charity?"
"When the rich ask the poor—yes."
He looked in her eyes with a smile.