“Rich friends!” exclaimed Lotys suddenly; “Who speaks of them--who needs them? Rich friends expect you to toady to them; to lick the ground under their feet; to fawn and flatter and lie, and be anything but honest men! The rich are the vulgar of this world;--no one who has heart, or soul, or sense, would condescend to seek friendships among those whose only claim to precedence is the possession of a little more yellow metal than their neighbours.” “Nevertheless, they and their yellow metal are the raw material, which Genius may as well use to pave its way through life,” said Zegota. “Lotys, you are too much of an idealist!” “Idealist! And you call yourself a realist, poor child!” said Lotys with a laugh; “I tell you I would sooner starve than accept favour or assistance from the merely rich!” “Of course you would!” said Zouche, “And is not that precisely the reason why you are set in dominion over us all? We men are not sure of ourselves--but--Heaven knows why!--we are sure of You! I suppose it is because you are sure of yourself! For example, we men are such wretched creatures that we cannot go long without our food,--but you, woman, can fast all day, and scorn the very idea of hunger. We men cannot bear much pain,--but you,--woman,--can endure suffering of your own without complaint, while attending to our various lesser hurts and scratches. Wherefore, just because we feel you are above us in this and many other things, we have set you amongst us as a warning Figurehead, which cries shame upon us if we falter, and reminds us that you, a woman, can do, and probably will do, what we men cannot. Imagine it! You would bear all things for love’s sake!--and, frankly speaking, we would bear nothing at all, except for our own immediate and particular pleasure. For that, of course, we would endure everything till we got it, and then--pouf!--we would let it go again in sheer weariness and desire for something else! Is it not so, Sergius?” “I am glad you know yourself so well!” said Thord gloomily. “Personally, I am not prepared to accept your theory.” “Men are children!” said Lotys, still smiling; “And should be treated as children always, by women! Come, little ones! To bed, all of you! It is growing late, and the rain has ceased.” She went to the window, and unbarring the shutters, opened it. The streets were wet and glistening below, but the clouds had cleared, and a pale watery moon shone out fitfully from the misty sky. “Say good-night, and part;” she continued. “It is time! This day month we will meet here again,--and our new comrades will then report what progress they have made in the matter of Carl Pérousse.” “Tell me,” said Leroy, approaching her, “What would you do, Madame, if you had determined, on proving the corruption and falsehood of this at present highly-honoured servant of the State?”