Several times both mother and daughter had tried to point this out to him.
“Live in a little forty-pound-a-year house, without a maid, with Inez and me to scrub and cook, and they might believe in you,” his wife had remarked bitterly on one occasion when her nerves had been more than usually upset by the intrusion of some very shabby looking guests. “Of course, now they reckon you up at your true value. You are making the best of the present order of things, getting the best you can out of it. Bah! What do you expect if your dreams come to pass? They will not leave you a sixpence, these wretches whom you have put into power. They will strip you at once.”
The visionary had smiled condescendingly. He had a poor opinion of the mental capacity of women. They had no initiative, no foresight.
But he was very tolerant to the weaker vessel. He patted the faded cheek of his once beautiful wife, a daughter of the old Spanish nobility. He was a kind husband, a fond father.
“You do not understand these difficult matters, my dear,” he replied in his loftiest tones. “The world will always be governed by brains, whether under a just or an unjust régime.” He tapped his broad forehead significantly. “When it comes to brains, Ferdinand Contraras will not be found wanting.”
Madame shrugged her shoulders and glanced at her pretty daughter, who made a signal of assent. Certainly, Contraras, great as was his power in anarchist circles, was not held in high esteem in his own family.
Towards Luçue the two women did not exhibit the same signs of aversion which they usually displayed to the other guests. The reason was obvious. He was a self-seeking, grasping fellow. He loved the flesh-pots, the good things of life. If he got into power with his chief, they would take the best for themselves and let their poor dupes feed on the husks. The difference between the two men was that Contraras was troubled with an almost ridiculous sentimentality. Luçue, big, genial, and humorous, was as callous as any human being could be. And he, moreover, had no conscience.
The meal was finished. Although in a way Luçue despised his chief’s ostentatious mode of living, he was very fond of good wine and food. There might come a time when, through Contraras’ brains, he would be in a similar position. The two men adjourned to the private sitting-room, where the great man produced some special brandy and choice cigars.
“Drink, my friend,” said the host genially. “We shall think none the less wisely because we take an excellent glass of brandy and smoke an equally excellent cigar.”
Luçue assented, but after a brief pause he spoke a little bluntly.