‘That was more a compliment to the Maison d’Othmar than to myself. We have always been popular in Paris; so was Louis Napoléon—once. We have much the same titles as he had; we have committed many crimes, and caused immeasurable misery.’
‘Not you,’ she said softly.
‘I inherit the results,’ said her husband.
‘But you have done great things,’ she said timidly. ‘The curé here was telling me yesterday of all you have done for the poor of Paris. He says that the hospitals you have founded, the charities you maintain——’
‘The curé knows his way to your heart and your purse! My dear, the Emperor Napoléon Trois thought that he did a great thing for the poor of Paris when he pulled down their rookeries and built them fine and healthy cités ouvrières; there was only one thing the Emperor could not do: he could not make the poor live in them; and the Convalescent Home he erected at Vincennes did not save him from Sedan, or Paris from the Commune. We who are rich shall always have the Emperor’s fate; we shall build as much as we like, and spend as much as we like, but we shall never reach the hearts of the great multitudes, who all hate us. It is very natural they should. Never say a word about what they call my charities. They are blunders like the Emperor’s, many of which seem now to be very absurd ones. If I ever come to my Sedan, they will not be remembered for an hour. The one thing I can do, and will do, is, that I will prevent, as long as I live, the use of the great mill of gold which we grind being turned to immoral purposes—such purposes, for instance, as the oppression of peoples, as the barter of nationalities, as the supply of the sinews of unjust and unholy wars, as the many intolerable iniquities which, whilst professing Christianity, modern statesmen employ under spurious names to most intolerable ends. So much I can do; and, for doing it, I am thought a fool. All the rest is wholly indifferent to me. The machine swings on as it will; it is so admirably organised that it requires little guidance, and, that little, Baron Friederich gives, whilst I am free, my dear, to stay at Amyôt and gather you another rose, for I have spoilt this one.’
He had spoken more gaily, frankly, and fully than was his wont, and kissed her softly on the throat once more.
Yseulte’s thoughts were with his earlier words; her eyes were moist, and very serious. It was the first time that he had ever alluded before her to his family or his position; she had never at all understood what they had meant around her when they had spoken of la Finance; she had seen that he was très grand seigneur, and was treated, wherever he moved, with the greatest marks of deference. It seemed very strange to her that so much power and state should be possible without unblemished descent: it was outside of her creed and her comprehension. If she had loved him less, it would have shocked her.
‘I am sorry,’ she said softly, ‘it must have troubled you so much. I understand why you are sometimes sad. It must be like holding lightning in your hands; and then there is the fear of using it ill——’
‘My greatest fault has been to be too careless of it,’ he answered. ‘To have used my power neither way, neither for good nor ill. I have comforted myself that I have done no harm;—a negative praise. Come, let us go and choose another rose for you; or shall we go into the woods? You like them better. Do not trouble your soul with the gold or the crimes of the Othmar. You are come to purify both; and you will make your children in your own likeness out of that consecrated ivory of which heaven has made you!’