“Don’t give up _yourself_. I say that to you in your interest. I think you’ve some honest little trade—I forget what. But whatever it may be remember that to do it well is the best thing; better than paying extraordinary visits, better even than being liked by Princesses!” “Ah yes, I see what you mean!” Hyacinth returned, exaggerating a little. “I’m very fond of my trade indeed, I assure you.” “I’m delighted to hear it. Hold fast to it then and be quiet; be diligent and good and get on. I gathered the other night that you’re one of the young men who want everything changed—I believe there are a great many in Italy and also in my own dear old Deutschland, and who even think it useful to throw bombs into innocent crowds and shoot pistols at their rulers or at any one. I won’t go into that. I might seem to be speaking for myself, and the fact is that for myself I don’t care; I’m so old that I may hope to spend the few days that are left me without receiving a bullet. But before you go any further please think a little whether you’re right.” “It isn’t just that you should impute to me ideas which I may not have,” said Hyacinth, turning very red but taking more and more of a fancy, all the same, to Madame Grandoni. “You talk at your ease about our ways and means, but if we were only to make use of those that you would like to see—!” And while he blushed, smiling, the young man shook his head two or three times with great significance. “I shouldn’t like to see any!” the old lady cried. “I like people to bear their troubles as one has done one’s self. And as for injustice, you see how kind I am to you when I say to you again, Don’t, don’t, give anything up. I’ll tell them to send you some tea,” she added as she took her way out of the room, presenting to him her round, low, aged back and dragging over the carpet a scanty and lustreless train. XVII