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Grazia knew the good that her love did for Christophe: and this consciousness of her power lifted her out of herself. Through her letters she exercised a controlling power over her friend. She was not so absurdly pretentious as to try to control his art: she had too much tact, and knew her limitations. But her true, pure voice was the diapason to which he attuned his soul.

They lived in their ideas, pondering their art, or beneath the chaos of facts perceiving the little undistinguished gleam which reveals the progress of the history of the human mind. Generally it was Christophe who visited Emmanuel.

With a smile, Christophe recognized in Georges certain instinctive antipathies, likings and dislikings, which he well knew, and the naive intolerance, the generosity of heart which gives itself entirely to whatsoever it loves.... Only Georges loved so many things that he had no time to love any one thing for long. He came back the next day and the days following.

The two brothers would walk on in front. Ada and Myrrha, laughing and whispering, would follow a few yards behind. They would stop in the middle of the road and talk. Christophe and Ernest would stop and wait for them. Christophe would lose patience and go on: but soon he would turn back annoyed and irritated, by hearing Ernest talking and laughing with the two young women.

He would argue with the advice that Christophe gave him: and he would seem disposed to change his way of living and to work seriously as soon as he was well again. He recovered: but had a long convalescence. The doctor declared that his health, which he had abused, needed to be fostered.

"Then," Christophe went on, "you know that I am not here for fun. I have had to fly. I have nothing. I must live." Diener was waiting for that, for the request. "Ah!" he said pompously. "It is very tiresome, very tiresome. Life here is hard. Everything is so dear. We have enormous expenses. And all these assistants..." Christophe cut him short contemptuously: "I am not asking you for money."

"And happy if they be no worse than subjects," said Christophe. "If," said Toussaint, "Bonaparte respects the liberties of the French no more than to reduce them from being a nation to being an army, he will not respect the liberties of the blacks, and will endeavour to make them once more slaves." "Ah! you see!" exclaimed Dessalines. "I neither see nor believe, Jacques. We are only speculating.

Olivier was amused by her remarks, and saw no harm in them: he thought he still loved Christophe as much as ever, but he loved only his personality: and that counts for very little in friendship: he did not see that little by little he was losing his understanding of him, and his interest in his ideas, and the heroic idealism in which they had been so united.... Love is too sweet a joy for the heart of youth: compared with it, what other faith can hold its ground?

Francoise smiled and supported his head to keep him from falling.... She sat by the window dreaming and looking down into the darkness of the garden, which presently was lit up. About seven o'clock she woke Christophe gently, and said good-by. In the course of the month she came at times when Christophe was out, and found the door shut.

They kissed, and holding each other close they went into the leafless woods. She thought Christophe good and gentle, and was grateful to him for his tender words: but she did not relinquish the naughty whims that were in her mind. But she hesitated, she did not cling to them so tightly: and yet she did not abandon what she had planned to do. Why?