"Yes, yes," said Philip, without heeding her; "I want you to charm him. You must make a conquest of him. Bring all your diplomacy to bear. He has an immense influence at the Russian Court, and is, I hear, the favourite Minister of the Czar. Being Minister of War, he is the master, the autocrat of his department. And, darling, I count on you to help me. I repeat to you, everything depends on him." "Money again, Philip, always money," replied Dora. "Are you not rich enough yet? If we have not the income to keep a house like this, why do we live in it? Why should we live beyond our means? I don't think it is right, Philip. What has become of those happy days when we loved each other so much, and when you thought only of your art? Ah, give me back my dear studio." "I am not rich enough yet," said Philip, "but I am perhaps on the road that leads to fortune." "You were rich before, and on the road to fame. I loved an artist and I adored his art." "Oh, deuce take art and artists," cried Philip, getting angry. "Philip, how can you? If you only knew how it pains me to hear you speak like that." "Well, my dear Dora," said Philip, "there are times at which I can scarcely keep my patience with you--you don't interest yourself in me as you used to do." "Is it really you who dare speak to me in that way?" exclaimed Dora indignantly. "Is it you who accuse me of not being the same, you who consecrated your life to art and to my happiness, and who to-day think of nothing but making money, like the first City man in the street? There are times when I long to go and earn my own living with my brush. The only thing that holds me back is Eva--you too, perhaps, for I am certain that one of these days you will cry 'Help!' and I shall have to rescue you from drowning." "You are ungrateful, Dora. It is for you that I work." "For me? But can't you see I loathe the life I lead? For me? When the thirst for wealth gets hold of a man, he has always the same excuse--it is not for himself. It is even the eternal parrot-cry of the miser; if he holds fast to his money, it is for the children; and under this pretext he renders his wife, his children, and everyone around him as miserable as he is himself." "Night and day," said Philip, "I have worked, and God is my witness that in working all my thoughts were for you. Now that I am almost at the goal, you turn against me--you refuse to give a smile to the man who can realise all my hopes." "Ah, why do you choose that one?" said Dora, frowning. "What a funny remark!" said Philip. "Just as if he was my choice." Then, looking at Dora, who seemed agitated, he added-- "What do you mean?" "I have been told that General Sabaroff is a libertine, a roué of the worst type, and you know what a detestation I have of such men."