She replied vaguely that she had been compelled to go to the station, and that Miss Bell had brought her back in the wagon.

He begged her pardon for his anxiety, but everything alarmed him.  His happiness made him afraid.

They were already at table when Choulette appeared, with the face of an antique satyr.  A terrible joy shone in his phosphorous eyes.  Since his return from Assisi, he lived only among paupers, drank chianti all day with girls and artisans to whom he taught the beauty of joy and innocence, the advent of Jesus Christ, and the imminent abolition of taxes and military service.  At the beginning of the procession he had gathered vagabonds in the ruins of the Roman theatre, and had delivered to them in a macaronic language, half French and half Tuscan, a sermon, which he took pleasure in repeating: 

“Kings, senators, and judges have said:  ‘The life of nations is in us.’  Well, they lie; and they are the coffin saying:  ‘I am the cradle.’

“The life of nations is in the crops of the fields yellowing under the eye of the Lord.  It is in the vines, and in the smiles and tears with which the sky bathes the fruits on the trees.

“The life of nations is not in the laws, which were made by the rich and powerful for the preservation of riches and power.

“The chiefs of kingdoms and of republics have said in their books that the right of peoples is the right of war, and they have glorified violence.  And they render honors unto conquerors, and they raise in the public squares statues to the victorious man and horse.  But one has not the right to kill; that is the reason why the just man will not draw from the urn a number that will send him to the war.  The right is not to pamper the folly and crimes of a prince raised over a kingdom or over a republic; and that is the reason why the just man will not pay taxes and will not give money to the publicans.  He will enjoy in peace the fruit of his work, and he will make bread with the wheat that he has sown, and he will eat the fruits of the trees that he has cut.”

“Ah, Monsieur Choulette,” said Prince Albertinelli, gravely, “you are right to take interest in the state of our unfortunate fields, which taxes exhaust.  What fruit can be drawn from a soil taxed to thirty-three per cent. of its net income?  The master and the servants are the prey of the publicans.”

Dechartre and Madame Martin were struck by the unexpected sincerity of his accent.

He added: 

“I like the King.  I am sure of my loyalty, but the misfortunes of the peasants move me.”

The truth was, he pursued with obstinacy a single aim:  to reestablish the domain of Casentino that his father, Prince Carlo, an officer of Victor Emmanuel, had left devoured by usurers.  His affected gentleness concealed his stubbornness.  He had only useful vices.  It was to become a great Tuscan landowner that he had dealt in pictures, sold the famous ceilings of his palace, made love to rich old women, and, finally, sought the hand of Miss Bell, whom he knew to be skilful at earning money and practised in the art of housekeeping.  He really liked peasants.  The ardent praises of Choulette, which he understood vaguely, awakened this affection in him.  He forgot himself enough to express his mind: