Albrecht sat upright at the table. He held his thin, strangely sensitive-looking hands crossed on the table-edge in front of the tall, half-empty glass of milk, and his eyelids dropped, and he sucked his underlip against his upper. He answered quietly: "I'm not surprised that so popular a prince as you should be contented with his lot. I for my part decline to express somebody else in my own person--I decline to, say, and you may think it's a case of sour grapes as much as you like. The truth is that I care for the 'Hi!' of the people just as little as any living soul possibly could care. I say soul, not body. The flesh is weak--there's something in one which expands at applause and contracts at cold silence. But my reason rises superior to all considerations of popularity or unpopularity. If I _did_ succeed in being a true national representative, I know what that would amount to. A misconception of my personality. Besides, a few hand-claps from people one does not know are not worth a shrug of the shoulders. Others--you--may be inspired by the feeling of the people behind you. You must forgive me for being too matter-of-fact to feel any such mysterious feeling of happiness--and too keen on cleanliness also, if you will allow me to put it thus. That kind of happiness stinks, to my thinking. Anyhow, I'm a stranger to the people. I give them nothing--what can they give me? With you ... oh, that's quite different. Hundreds of thousands, who are like you, are grateful to you because they can recognize themselves in you. You may laugh if you like. The chief danger you run is that you submerge yourself in your popularity too readily; and yet after all you feel no apprehensions, although you are aware at this very moment ..." "No, Albrecht, I don't think so. I don't think I run any such danger." "Then we shall understand each other all the better. I have no penchant for strong expressions as a rule. But popularity is hog-wash." "It's funny, Albrecht. Funny that you should use that word. The 'Pheasants' were always using it--my schoolmates, the young sprigs, you know, at the 'Pheasantry.' I know what you are. You're an aristocrat, that's what's the matter."