committee of commerce and food-supply which brings about elections and coalitions, one of those grizzled dignitaries who rule over our democratic banquets and conventions, the invisible man out of whom the rabble constructs the tottering masonry--freemasonry--of our Republic? This friend of the people doesn't want to have the people turned out of their tomb . . . because, and this is the best of all . . . because of his philanthropy. . . .' At the end they hand me a petition from the tenants, drawn up in fine style, protesting against this desire to turn them out of their quarters! What do you expect me to do against all these people? The augurs laugh, they say. So I laughed. But I added that one shouldn't keep a good joke to oneself, that I was not an egoist, and that I intended to share it to-morrow with the readers of the _Matin_. They cried out at this, but I shall do as I said. I know what to expect; every knife will be raised against me. . . . The disciples of Hippocrates, to whom I've just given a good drubbing, will miss no chance. They have their own way of getting back at me. But, as you say, 'War,' my Lady Warrior! How about the other evening at Solange's? All this seems to amuse you?" "Yes, it's splendid. I like this, fighting against injustice. I should have liked to be a man." "There is no need to be a man. You have done your share. . . ." "I have never complained of my share in the struggle. It's only the suffocation. Our lot is to fight in a cave, but you fight in the open air, on a mountain-top." "Ah! that quivering of the nostrils! A horse sniffing the powder. I've seen that already. I noticed it the other evening." "You laughed at me the other evening." "Not at all. It was too much like myself for me to laugh." "You harassed me; you started me off." "Yes, I saw it at once. . . . I wasn't mistaken. . . ." "Just the same, you were contemptuous enough in the beginning." "How the devil could I have expected to find you, to find you at Solange's house?" "Well, but what about yourself? Why were you there?" "It's another matter with me." "A liking for sentimentality?" "It's your turn to tease. . . . Poor Solange! . . . No, don't let's talk about her. I know everything that can be said. But Solange is taboo." She did not question him, but she looked at him. "I'll tell you some other time. . . . Yes, I owe her a great deal." They had come to a stop. They were about to separate. Annette smiled. "You are not as bad as you seem." "And perhaps you're not as good!" "That makes an average." He looked her directly in the eyes. "Will you?" He was no longer joking. The blood streamed into Annette's cheeks, and she could not find a way to reply. Philippe's eyes held her and would not let her go. Was he saying something? Was he not saying anything? On his lips she read, "I want you." He bowed and went on. XLI