“Physically afraid, of course not! Morally afraid, yes!” asserted Basil, straightening himself. “We are having some little trouble over at Tverna just now, as you know; a mere trifle not worthy of serious consideration; but, strangely enough, it makes her nervous. She has not caught on since our arrival there. Imagine, she considered it quite improper when old General Hiltròw knelt on the threshold of the drawing-room and kissed her hands in greeting, awaiting the kiss on the brow that is customary here, though I had warned her of all these things. The people all and sundry were ready enough to prostrate themselves at her feet, but”--he hesitated, cleared his throat, and glanced appealingly at his relative--“but,” he continued, seeing Salvières raise his shoulders ever so slightly, “but she drew away from them--no, I don’t quite mean that--rather she showed her--her indifference--a little too plainly. For instance, she takes no interest in the sick, the ailing, the unhappy; she never sets foot in an _isba_; she has handed over the key of the pharmacy to the housekeeper, a thing never heard of in mother’s time; and when the land-steward or the _staròstá_ come in quest of remedies, delicacies, or any of the many comforts we always provide, she sends them word that she does not know what they want--which is true enough, of course--and that they must not bother her.” “You should teach her to do better!” Salvières hazarded. “But--my dear fellow,” Basil began, “I am not inclined to make her life here a misery.” “Then don’t complain,” was the cool rejoinder. “Let her have her head; bid her amuse herself in her own way, encourage her to see and receive people of her own choice, and thereby obtain peace--that most desirable of possessions!” “It is not everybody’s privilege, after all, to know by instinct how to treat the lower classes,” Basil said, irritably, “or to become popular, and to find the secret of assuring a number of unprepossessing and almost total strangers that one remembers them individually and perfectly!” “Yet that is just what we must do, if we seek popularity. Besides which popularity means--plus a cruel strain on the digestive organs--a deep pocket--which your wife fortunately has--and the patience of an archangel--although Archangel Michael does not give the impression of extreme longanimity. Neither does your wife, if I judge her aright.” “There’s no earthly use in joking, Jean! Try and help me, rather, for, to tell you the truth, I’m a little at a loss what to do. If I yield to her unspoken wishes, and take her away, it means utter ruin to all my plans, my projects, and also to the welfare of my people. And if I do not yield--” “Don’t yield on that point, Basil!” Salvières quickly interrupted. “Don’t take her away. It won’t do. No, certainly not; it won’t do, for her, for you, or for them.” “I know; I feel just as you do about it, but what then?”