"It costs little, my boy," scoffed the count, "to lay our faults at our nation's door; it cannot defend itself. Moreover ..." He stopped, for his cigar had gone out; he lit it with much ceremony, and when he began to speak again the irritation was gone from his voice, and it had once more its contemplatively nasal tone. "The discussion here is probably fruitless, we are neither of us sufficiently objective in this matter. I therefore regret having to decline your proposal." Boris rose and bowed formally. "Then I presume I can go," he said. "Yes," replied the count, "the subject is exhausted for now. It should be added that I must beg you to terminate your visit here today." Boris bowed again. "Of course in the afternoon," added the count. "Thank you," said Boris, and then walked out very erect. Count Hamilcar took a long pull at his cigar and again looked out of the window. He wished to see another harvest wagon, and a lad lying sleepily on top of it in the hot yellow straw. In the yard behind a bush Marion had been standing the whole time, looking in through his window. Now that Boris was gone, she too ran toward the house. Youth on duty, reconnoitring against old age, thought the count. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was a little weary. Of course she would come at once. As he knew his daughter, she would not let herself miss the intoxication of loyalty, of confessing, of having courage to stand before the cruel father. Goodness, how life kept distributing the same old roles over and over. Disgusting. Now the door moved. He did not open his eyes: an unspeakable sluggishness made his eyelids heavy. He heard Billy enter the room, step up close to him, and stand still before him. Then he opened his eyes and smiled a little. "Well, my daughter?" he asked, "come, sit down beside me." "No, papa," replied Billy, "I had rather stand." "Very well, stand."--He too had to stand when he delivered his speech, thought Count Hamilcar. Billy stood there in her white dress, red carnations at her belt, her arms hanging down, and the hands lightly clasped. Her face was pale and her eyes very bright. She looks resolute, flitted through the count's mind, Charlotte Corday at Marat's bath-tub. "I simply wanted to say, papa," began Billy, "that I am _for_ Boris, that I am on his side. Even if you insult him and send him away, I am for him, I must be." She spoke calmly, only drawing the red carnations out of her belt and nervously pulling them to pieces the while.