“Most people will work at that pitch, and the Department has powers.  There are stages of unpleasantness in the work—­stoppage of food—­and a man or woman who has refused to work once is known by a thumb-marking system in the Department’s offices all over the world.  Besides, who can leave the city poor?  To go to Paris costs two Lions.  And for insubordination there are the prisons—­dark and miserable—­out of sight below.  There are prisons now for many things.”

“And a third of the people wear this blue canvas?”

“More than a third.  Toilers, living without pride or delight or hope, with the stories of Pleasure Cities ringing in their ears, mocking their shameful lives, their privations and hardships.  Too poor even for the Euthanasy, the rich man’s refuge from life.  Dumb, crippled millions, countless millions, all the world about, ignorant of anything but limitations and unsatisfied desires.  They are born, they are thwarted and they die.  That is the state to which we have come.”

For a space Graham sat downcast.

“But there has been a revolution,” he said.  “All these things will be changed.  Ostrog—­”

“That is our hope.  That is the hope of the world.  But Ostrog will not do it.  He is a politician.  To him it seems things must be like this.  He does not mind.  He takes it for granted.  All the rich, all the influential, all who are happy, come at last to take these miseries for granted.  They use the people in their politics, they live in ease by their degradation.  But you—­you who come from a happier age—­it is to you the people look.  To you.”

He looked at her face.  Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.  He felt a rush of emotion.  For a moment he forgot this city, he forgot the race, and all those vague remote voices, in the immediate humanity of her beauty.

“But what am I to do?” he said with his eyes upon her.

“Rule,” she answered, bending towards him and speaking in a low tone.  “Rule the world as it has never been ruled, for the good and happiness of men.  For you might rule it—­you could rule it.

“The people are stirring.  All over the world the people are stirring.  It wants but a word—­but a word from you—­to bring them all together.  Even the middle sort of people are restless—­unhappy.

“They are not telling you the things that are happening.  The people will not go back to their drudgery—­they refuse to be disarmed.  Ostrog has awakened something greater than he dreamt of—­he has awakened hopes.”

His heart was beating fast.  He tried to seem judicial, to weigh considerations.

“They only want their leader,” she said.

“And then?”

“You could do what you would;—­the world is yours.”

He sat, no longer regarding her.  Presently he spoke.  “The old dreams, and the thing I have dreamt, liberty, happiness.  Are they dreams?  Could one man—­one man—?” His voice sank and ceased.