‘You died bravely?’

Clotilde entered into the extravagance with a happy simulation of zest.

’Simply, we will say.  My time had come, and I took no sturdy pose, but let the life-stream run its course for a less confined embankment.  Sapphire sea, sapphire sky:  one believes in life there, thrills with it, when life is ebbing:  ay, as warmly as when life is at the flow in our sick and shrivelled North—­the climate for dried fish!  Verily the second death of hearing that a gold-haired Lucretia had been on the island seven days earlier, was harder to bear.  Tell me frankly—­the music in Italy?’

‘Amorous and martial, brainless and monotonous.’

‘Excellent!’ his eyes flashed delightedly.  ’O comrade of comrades! that year lost to me will count heavily as I learn to value those I have gained.  Yes, brainless!  There, in music, we beat them, as politically France beats us.  No life without brain!  The brainless in Art and in Statecraft are nothing but a little more obstructive than the dead.  It is less easy to cut a way through them.  But it must be done, or the Philistine will be as the locust in his increase, and devour the green blades of the earth.  You have been trained to shudder at the demagogue?’

‘I do not shudder,’ said Clotilde.

’A diamond from the lapidary!—­Your sentences have many facets.  Well, you are conversing with a demagogue, an avowed one:  a demagogue and a Jew.  You take it as a matter of course:  you should exhibit some sparkling incredulity.  The Christian is like the politician in supposing the original obverse of him everlastingly the same, after the pattern of the monster he was originally taught to hate.  But the Jew has been a little christianized, and we have a little bejewed the Christian.  So with demagogues:  as we see the conservative crumbling, we grow conservatived.  Try to think individually upon what you have to learn collectively—­that is your task.  You are of the few who will be equal to it.  We are not men of blood, believe me.  I am not.  For example, I detest and I decline the duel.  I have done it, and proved myself a man of metal notwithstanding.  To say nothing of the inhumanity, the senselessness of duelling revolts me.  ’Tis a folly, so your nobles practise it, and your royal wiseacre sanctions.  No blood for me:  and yet I tell you that whatever opposes me, I will sweep away.  How?  With the brain.  If we descend to poor brute strength or brutal craft, it is from failing in the brain:  we quit the leadership of our forces, and the descent is the beast’s confession.  Do I say how?  Perhaps by your aid.—­ You do not start and cry:  “Mine!” That is well.  I have not much esteem for non-professional actresses.  They are numerous and not entertaining.  —­You leave it to me to talk.’

‘Could I do better?’

‘You listen sweetly.’

‘It is because I like to hear.’

‘You have the pearly little ear of a shell on the sand.’