"I am a Russian and you are a Pole, but we shall have no time for fighting; I leave for London to-morrow morning at seven o'clock."He was on the point of casting himself at her feet and tenderly kissing her two hands, in testimony of his gratitude."To-morrow at seven o'clock," he mentally ejaculated."I have slandered her; she has some good in her.""When I say that I am a Russian," resumed the princess, "it is merely a formal speech.Love of country is a prejudice, an idea that has had its day, that had sense in the times of Epaminondas or of Theseus, but that has it no longer.We live in the age of the telegraph, the locomotive; and I know of nothing more absurd now than a frontier, or more ridiculous than a patriot.Rumour says that you fought like a hero in the insurrection of 1863; that you gave proof of incomparable prowess, and that you killed with your own hand ten Cossacks? What harm had they done you, those poor Cossacks? Do they not sometimes haunt your dreams? Can you think of your victims without disquietude and without remorse?"He replied, in a dry, haughty tone: "I really do not know, princess, how many Cossacks I have killed; but I do know that there are some subjects on which I do not love to expatiate.""You are right--I should not comprehend you.Don Quixote did not do Sancho the honour to explain himself to him every day.""Ah, I beg of you, let us talk a little of the man-monkey," he observed, in a rather more pliant tone than he had at first assumed.
"That is a question that has the advantage of being neither Russian nor Polish.""You will not succeed that way in throwing me off the track.I mean to tell you all the evil I think of you, no matter how it may incense you.You uttered, at table, theories that displeased me.You are not only a Polish patriot; you are an idealist, a true disciple of Plato, and you do not know how I always have detested this man.In all these sixty years that I have been in this world, I have seen nothing but selfishness, and grasping after self-gratification.Twice during dinner you spoke of an ideal world.What is an ideal world? Where is it situated? You speak of it as of a house whose inhabitants you are well acquainted with, whose key is in your pocket.Can you show me the key? I promise not to steal it from you.O poet!--for you are quite as much of a poet as of a Pole, which is not saying much--""Nothing remains but to hang me," he interposed, smilingly.
"No, I shall not hang you.Opinions are free, and there is room enough in the world for all, even idealists.Besides, if you were to be hanged, it would bring to the verge of despair a charming girl who adores you, who was created expressly for you, and whom you will shortly marry.When will the ceremony take place?""If I dared hope that you would do me the honour of being present, princess, I should postpone it until your return from England.""You are too amiable; but I could not on any consideration retard the happiness of Mlle.Moriaz.There, my dear count, I congratulate you sincerely.I had the pleasure to meet here the future Countess Larinski.She is adorable! It is an exquisite nature, hers--a true poet's wife.She must have brains, discernment; she has chosen you--that says everything.As to her fortune, I dare not ask you if she has any; you would turn away from me in disgust.Do idealists trouble their heads with such vile questions?"She leaned towards him, and, fanning herself excitedly, added: "These poor idealists! they have one misfortune.""And what is that, princess?"
