He did not succeed, however, for before a minute had passed, he turned to Georges again and exclaimed angrily, "How delightful to contemplate the next generation; what a charming prospect! A people all ignorant atheists. I ask no severer punishment for the agitators who have wrought the mischief in this generation, than to be obliged to govern the next. "I suppose they themselves would desire nothing better," said Oswald smiling. "That's perfectly true; all they are struggling for, is power," muttered Truyn. "Excuse me, my dear friend; but what are you struggling for?" asked Georges. "What are _we_ struggling for," repeated Truyn, looking at him compassionately, "what are we struggling for?--I will tell you;--for the Emperor and our fatherland, which means for order and justice, for the dignity of the throne, for the sanctity of home, for the fostering of beauty and nobility, for all the wealth of human achievement which we have inherited from the past, and ought to bequeath to the future--in a word, Georges,--we are protecting civilization." "Bursts of applause from the Right--aha--congratulations to the orator from the Left!" said Georges laughing, then turning to Oswald who was still scribbling, he observed, "I rather think you have been taking short-hand notes of your uncle's speech. We will send them to Otto Ilsenbergh, he will be delighted." "Nonsense!" said Oswald. "I am composing a telegram." "In verse?" Georges asked innocently. "Georges! As head of the family I desire to be treated with more respect," said Oswald, laughing. "Oh, it occurred to me, only because you were making so many corrections," rejoined Georges. "The thing is quite difficult--it must be so worded that Gabrielle shall understand it,--and the telegraph operators shall not; I cannot manage it." "Suppose you refresh your powers with a glass of sherry," proposed Georges, taking down an appetizing lunch-basket from the rack above his head, and drawing forth a bottle and three wine-glasses. The wine had a decidedly soporific effect upon the three travellers. Truyn's political excitement was soothed, and after drinking to a better future, all three leaned back in silence. Truyn pondered upon the shy, timid confession that his wife had made to him that morning early, very early, as they were sauntering together in the park, while the sun's first slant rays were breaking through the shrubbery, and the morning-dew was still glittering on the meadows. "The whole earth seems bathed in tears of delicious joy," his young wife had whispered, and then through her own happy tears she had begged him to give her a 'really large sum' from her own money that she might make some of the poor people on the estate happy too.