“Look you!” exclaimed he.  “If my brother said he could lay France at your feet, by heaven! he can well-nigh do so now.  See!  Here are some of the properties he has lately purchased in the realm of France.  The Marquisat d’Effiat—­’tis worth eight hundred thousand livres; the estate of Riviere—­worth nine hundred thousand livres; the estate of Roissy—­worth six hundred and fifty thousand livres; the estates of Berville, of Fontaine, of Yville, of Gerponville, of Tancarville, of Guermande—­the tale runs near a score!  Lately my brother has purchased the Hotel Mazarin, and the property at Rue Vivienne, paying for them one million two hundred thousand livres.  He has other city properties, houses in Paris, estates here and there, running not into the hundreds of thousands, but into the millions of livres in actual value.  Among these are some of the estates of the greatest nobles of France.  Their value is more than any man can compute.  Is this not something?  Moreover, there goes with it all the dignity of the most stupendous personal success ever made by a single man since the world began.  ’Tis all yours, Lady Catharine.  And unless you share it, it has no value to my brother.  I know myself that he will fling it all away, calling it worthless, since he can not have that greatest fortune which he craves!”

“Sirrah, I have entertained much speech of both yourself and your brother, because I would not seem ungracious nor forgetful.  Yet this paying of court by means of figures, by virtue of lists of estates—­do you not know how ineffectual this must seem?”

“If you could but understand!” cried Will.  “If you could but believe that there is none on earth values these less than my brother.  Under all this he has yet greater dreams.  His ambition is to awaken an old world and to build a new one.  By heaven!  Lady Catharine, I am asked to speak for my brother, and so I shall!  These are his ambitions.  First of all, Lady Catharine, you.  Second, America.  Third, a people for America—­a people who may hope!  Oh, I admit all the folly of his life.  He played deep, yet ’twas but to forget you.  He drank, but ’twas to forget you.  Foolish he was, as are all men.  Now he succeeds, and finds he can not forget you.  I have told you his ambitions, Madam, and though others may never know nor acknowledge them, you, at least, must do so.  And I beg you to remember, Madam, that of all his ambitions, ’twas you, Lady Catharine, your favor, your kindness, your mercy, that made his first and chief desire.”

“As for that,” said the woman, somewhat scornfully, “if you please, I had rather I received my protestations direct; and your brother knows I forbid him further protestations.  He has, it is true, raised some considerable noise by way of enterprises.  That I might know, even did I not see this horde of dukes and duchesses and princes of the blood, clamoring for the recognition of even his remotest friends.  I know, too, that he is accepted as a hero by the people.”