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 I GEORGES CLEMENCEAU 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 (LES PLUS FORT) 
 
 BY 
 GEORGES CLEMENCEAU 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
 
 TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
 
 INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HENRI LEPASTRE, Marquis de Puymau- 
 fray, led the great rout of the last years of 
 the Second Empire brilliantly. His duels, 
 his adventures in gallantry, made him famous at 
 Longchamps, in the chateaux, at the theatres. 
 They were very jolly days, as one of the heroes of the 
 occasion said, and Henri de Puymaufray was at the 
 height of the carnival of folly. When the outraged 
 virtue of the sentimental Germans broke up the 
 carnival with shell fire Henri de Puymaufray went 
 to the front as dashingly as to a rendezvous, re- 
 turned with his arm in a sling, and refused to be 
 consoled. He said that his generation had done too 
 much evil to take pride in the common courage of 
 resisting the invader. 
 
 "Of course I am a hero," he replied whenever 
 people tried to flatter him, "but I am a hero of a 
 defeat. Ribbons, and pieces in the paper, and the 
 whole parade that goes with them will not console 
 me for my country's loss f or which we are to blame. 
 What is the slash of a bayonet compared with other 
 wounds that will never close over?" 
 
 3 
 
queer. "The war struck home 
 to him," said his friends. And since he was ruined, 
 in any case, and had retired to what was left of his 
 estate, they decided that he had gone under, and 
 . . . good-night! 
 
 Henri de Puymaufray's father one-time gentle- 
 man in waiting to Charles X, a lover of white wine 
 and pretty country girls was killed in a hunting 
 accident before he knew that he was to have an heir. 
 His mother, nee Pannetier, a stupid, ugly creature, 
 daughter of an army contractor, died three days 
 after the birth of the child. She had perpetuated the 
 race had gilded again, for a day, the escutcheon 
 sorely soiled by time. And, having accomplished 
 the full duty of a plebeian millionaire, she took her 
 place hierarchically in the tombs of the Puymauf rays, 
 who forgave the misalliance. A seedy old uncle, of 
 the noble side, was named guardian and then tutor 
 for the little marquis. He sulked at the coming of 
 the child, who ruined all his own senile hopes, but 
 he established himself at the chateau with an abb3 
 from the bishopric of Nantes, and with the two 
 Nanettes, his childhood nurse and her little daughter. 
 
 Fourteen uneventful years. The child grew up, 
 loved by his nurse, whipped by the abbe, consoled 
 by his little foster sister, and lectured by his tutor. 
 
 In spite of his appearance the crooked nose, the 
 rolling, yellow eyes, and the gold-headed cane he 
 
THE STRONGEST 5 
 
 was always twirling, the chevalier de Vertpree 
 was not malicious. Misery and pride of race had 
 made him stingy, and he got so much satisfaction 
 from his miserly administration of the Pannetier 
 millions that he eventually forgave his nephew for his 
 untimely birth. He even grew to like the boy, after 
 his fashion, and once, between two games of bezique, 
 conceived the idea of making a real gentleman of 
 him. He discussed the project seriously with the 
 abbe. 
 
 "Monsieur le Chevalier," the abbe would say, 
 "there's only one thing to do. We will make our 
 young marquis a perfect God-fearing Christian a 
 man who will serve the Church and do his duty faith- 
 fully to those whom Heaven has placed under him, 
 and who will fight with fire and sword all those dis- 
 turbers that flourish in our unhappy day, when 
 heresy is no longer a crime." 
 
 "Your game is bad, my dear abbe, but you know 
 what you are saying. Only, while you take care of 
 his soul, I have to insure the honour and pride of a 
 race which, before God, owes fealty to the Throne 
 and to the Altar. You will form the spirit of the 
 child; I, his heart. So long as you won't fill his 
 mind with the impious trash of science, I will take 
 care of the rest." 
 
 Then they would quarrel about tricks and count 
 their points all over again. 
 
 The abbe fell in with his partner's ideas perfectly. 
 
6 THE STRONGEST 
 
 He knew nothing whatever of what the chevalier 
 called "the filthy mess of the scientists." He knew 
 as much Latin, geography, and history as a priest 
 needed to know, and had some ideas about myth- 
 ology. Whatever inclination toward learning the 
 child had was overcome by this martinet, and Henri 
 turned willingly toward the system of education 
 preached by his uncle. 
 
 "Henri, my child," he would say, fiddling with his 
 useless spectacles, "you are the Marquis de Puy- 
 maufray. Few can say that much. Every day I 
 am increasing your property. Your first duty is to 
 preserve it. You promise me to preserve it?" 
 
 Henri, deeply moved, promised with a nod of his 
 head. 
 
 "Good. When you have the chateau, which we 
 will restore some day, and the farm lands and the 
 pastures, you will not have to worry about anything 
 except defending yourself against the mistakes of 
 your time." 
 
 The devious turns of this speech were difficult for 
 Henri's dozen years, but at "the mistakes of your 
 time" he pricked up his ears. He knew what was 
 coming; questions and answers and a long litany of 
 the things that no one need know. 
 ^"The men of to-day want to know every thing. 
 They are blasphemers, they are revolutionists. 
 They're bandits. Now, Henri, you don't like ban- 
 dits, do you?" 
 
THE STRONGEST 7 
 
 Henri's little head signified an energetic No. 
 
 "Very good. The abbe has told you how our 
 first parents were tempted with the fruit of the tree 
 of knowledge. We are still tempted. We must 
 resist." (Henri made the appropriate gesture of 
 resistance.) "Good. When you know your cate- 
 chism you know all you can know. Do you need 
 to worry about books?" 
 
 "Oh, no," Henri answered. 
 
 "Or bother about gas, or thermometers? What 
 do you care for steamboats and locomotives and all 
 the rest of those noisy, evil-smelling machines? So! 
 Be a good child; serve God; love your neighbour; be 
 grateful to your uncle, who is making you a Christian 
 gentleman; and respectful to the abbe, who is teach- 
 ing you innocent if useless things. Then I will be 
 pleased with you. Now come and kiss me." 
 
 But Henri remained at a respectful distance from 
 both the abbe and his uncle. His world of kindness 
 and love was in Nanette, the mother who fondled 
 him and brooded over him and adored him. 
 
 The Breton woman is sentimental, fixed and whole- 
 hearted in her devotion. The story of Nanette is 
 told in the words: she loved. She loved Henri with 
 the perfect passion of those who give themselves 
 without getting, with the joy of contributing to 
 some indistinct Puymaufray of the future, whose 
 gestures would be the pride of history. Her own 
 daughter was subordinate to this enterprise, and the 
 
8 THE STRONGEST 
 
 humble nurse bent all before her by the tranquil 
 energy of her ideal. The chevalier hesitated to cross 
 her, and the abbe surrendered at once, dazed by the 
 authority with which she spoke of the will of God. 
 
 Until Henri was fourteen years old his life was 
 happy with his "sister" Nanette, with the farmers 
 in the fields, with the blacksmith at his forge, the 
 shoemaker at work on his wooden shoes all of them 
 masters of the secrets of earth. The universe en- 
 chanted him. Then the abbe persuaded his uncle 
 that four years with the Jesuits at Poitiers was indis- 
 pensable to the education of a gentleman. The 
 parting from the two Nanettes was cruel, and they 
 consoled each other only with pledges of eternal 
 affection. 
 
 The good Fathers found the soul of Henri quietly 
 closed against them. Li the depths of his heart 
 the elder Nanette had laid the treasure of which 
 she alone held the key. The masters, zealous 
 enough, gradually lost interest in a pupil who would 
 not have to pass examinations and left Henri to 
 browse, haphazard, in the new world of books. He 
 asked questions, learned things, and acquired a 
 passable culture. 
 
 He had just reached his eighteenth year when his 
 uncle died. The day after the funeral a family coun- 
 cil was held in the great hall of the chateau. It 
 turned into a monologue delivered by a little, painted 
 old lady who looked like a crab-apple, shook her 
 
THE STRONGEST 9 
 
 long black mittens with an air of authority, and 
 spoke in a voice like a broken harpsichord. 
 
 "Henri, my child, we are assembled to fulfil in 
 every respect our duties toward the noble house of 
 Puymaufray. The hour has come to make a grave 
 decision. It is time for you to know that your family 
 has had its misfortunes as well as its grandeur. From 
 the day when one of your ancestors saved the life of 
 King Philippe-Auguste, according to an oral tradi- 
 tion which I hereby transmit to you, all your forbears 
 have been soldiers. Why was it necessary for one 
 of them to be deaf to the voice of honour and to 
 soil his name with a stain I would gladly wash out 
 with my own blood? I cannot give my blood. It 
 is for you to redeem the glory of the house of Puy- 
 maufray." 
 
 Henri, impressed by the solemn prologue, deeply 
 troubled by this unexpected revelation of a stain 
 on his name, listened without understanding. The 
 word "redeem" gave him a clue. He had heard his 
 uncle and the abbe discuss the fortune inherited 
 through the Pannetiers. The abbe had denounced 
 these rapidly accumulated millions as tainted money, 
 gained in the service of the usurper or stolen from 
 the Church. He had heard his uncle say that " some 
 day Henri will redeem it ... or won't." The 
 words suddenly came to life in his memory. 
 
 "Aunt Des Tremblayes," he cried, impetuously, 
 flushing to the roots of his hair, "you are right. We 
 
10 THE STRONGEST 
 
 must make restitution. If there is anything against 
 my grandfather Pannetier I do not want his money. 
 If any of the rest was stolen money I refuse to take 
 it." 
 
 The little old lady jumped from her chair as if 
 stung. "What is this madness, nephew, and what 
 are you talking about? However sad your father's 
 marriage was, it was justified by the necessity for 
 restoring the Puymaufrays to their proper station in 
 society. I do not know what fables have been told 
 you about M. Pannetier (de Nogent) whom I knew 
 in his old age, a God-fearing man. What I alluded 
 to was the deplorable error of your paternal ancestor, 
 Jean de Puymaufray, who lived here, without protest, 
 all through the execrable revolution, giving the ap- 
 pearance of justice to the assassination of the King, 
 the persecutions of the priests, the bloody violence 
 against the members of his own order." 
 
 Henri breathed again. 
 
 "Now you know all. Without question you share 
 my indignation. You cannot serve the Throne 
 while the King of France is in exile. But the Holy 
 See is safe. Rally to it. We have anticipated your 
 desires. You are accepted as a Zouave. Here are 
 your letters of introduction and a draft on the bank. 
 You will start to-morrow." 
 
 Henri saw only one thing: no more Jesuits at 
 Poitiers. Youth and the unknown tempted him. 
 
 "I am ready," he said, simply. 
 
THE STRONGEST 11 
 
 A flattering murmur greeted his words. 
 
 The next day he was en route, lightheartedly leav- 
 ing the Nanettes one of whom he was never to see 
 again. 
 
 Because he lacked sufficient preparation to under- 
 stand it, Rome did not affect him. What he knew of 
 antiquity seemed out of place among those old yellow 
 stones whose meaning and history escaped him. He 
 understood that something colossal had existed there, 
 an enormously developed will-to-rule to which the 
 Church was the natural heir. Religion would un- 
 doubtedly have appeared nobler to him if he had not 
 seen the Vatican so close. All the gods have need of 
 distance. Besides Pius IX, the sacred idol of distant 
 crowds, Mgr. de Merode, prelate and minister of war 
 trying out a new litter in the Zouaves' camp, hanging 
 his cassock on the pack saddle and travelling around 
 on a mule like a wounded man evoked sentiments 
 quite different from those of the faithful kneeling for 
 the pontifical blessing. 
 
 The Zouave society was mixed. In addition to a 
 crowd of bullies from every country there were 
 Irishmen, Canadians, Belgians, brought to camp by 
 a sincere exaltation for the faith. Occasionally 
 they had a scrap. Between times they kept them- 
 selves amused. The beautiful Roman girls were not 
 indifferent to the French. 
 
 The young man was snatched from his pleasures 
 by the letter which informed him of the death of 
 
12 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Nanette. With her last words she commanded her 
 daughter to care for M. Henri, to watch over and 
 protect him. The girl gave her promise, tearfully. 
 
 Henri wept for his foster mother. Wearied, scep- 
 tical, disillusioned, he stayed on until his four years 
 were over and then came up to the imperial festivities 
 of Paris. 
 
 What could he do in Paris except what the gay 
 youth of his time were doing ? In six years the wealth 
 of the Pannetiers was redeemed, as the abbe had 
 advised; or, rather, it was restored to the nation, 
 not by pious gifts, but with the aid of certain ladies 
 of the theatres, jockeys, shopkeepers, moneylenders, 
 whose useful function it is to prevent the excessive 
 accumulation of capital. 
 
 This act of social levelling was the inevitable result 
 of a life to which all the channels of useful activity 
 were closed. To live for his money seemed to Puy- 
 maufray to be the stupidest thing in the world. And 
 for what employment had he been prepared? He 
 threw himself head first into the adventure of vulgar 
 pleasures. He gained no very high opinion of him- 
 self, but he consoled himself more or less by his scorn 
 for his fellow men and women. He mortgaged and 
 then sold his estates, without regret. 
 
 He was well-nigh ruined and was beginning to cast 
 discreet glances at French and American heiresses 
 when, in the midst of his bitterest vituperations of 
 women, he was caught in a tempest of passion which 
 
THE STRONGEST 13 
 
 uprooted him and stamped upon him, and, by force 
 of suffering, brought forth the man whom education 
 and the dead weight of circumstance had plunged 
 deep into the recesses of his soul, unseen by himself. 
 
 On the pelouse at Longchamps, on the day of the 
 Grand Prix, Henri had met an old friend, Dominic 
 Harle of Poitiers, who, after a brilliant career at 
 school, was building an important paper factory at 
 Radegonde, near the Puymaufray estate. 
 
 The two men had never shown any lively interest 
 in each other. Harle had been a grind, a dull, stupid 
 soul, with a marvellous head for t mathematics, the 
 pride of the good Fathers, while the other, rebellious 
 against the effort of learning, had gapingly followed 
 the flies up the wall, dreaming, in his prison, of rustic 
 pleasures with Nanette and the abbe. The proxim- 
 ity of the chateau and the factory would naturally 
 have brought together the idle master of the one, 
 careless of the wealth he had flung away, and the 
 hard-working, practical master of the other, for whom 
 the name of Puymaufray seemed to possess excep- 
 tional importance. 
 
 So far from each other at first, the two men sud- 
 denly became friends by a mutual feeling that their 
 destinies were joined, and rapidly flung a bridge of 
 reminiscences between the dark paths of Poitiers 
 and the brilliant tumult of Longchamps. A distant 
 cousin of Harle's, canon of Tours and in good stand- 
 ing in the archbishopric, had found the necessary 
 
14 THE STRONGEST 
 
 capital for him. The Jesuit Fathers, who could not 
 lose sight of so promising a pupil, had married him 
 prosperously, as he briefly said. 
 
 "Unfortunately," he concluded, "the Fathers 
 could not have foreseen the failure of the Catholic 
 Bank of Canada, brought about by the fraudulent 
 tricks of the London and Paris Jews, and I only 
 laid my hands once on the 100,000 francs which I was 
 supposed to get every year. My father-in-law died 
 of grief after some rather painful scenes between us; 
 my wife has become sulky, peevish, unbearable; and 
 I am cheated. Life isn't always amusing at Rade- 
 gonde, and that's why I sometimes run up to Paris 
 to forget my work and my burdens." 
 
 With the help of the Marquis, and in gay company, 
 Dominic easily forgot his troubles that day. The 
 blas6 Parisian, weary of Paris, got some amusement 
 from the fresh debauchery of the provincial who had 
 broken loose. It was not enough, however, to shake 
 off his growing horror of the unvarying joys in the 
 emptiness where his life was spent. The eternal 
 beginning over again, at the same times, the same 
 places, with the same conventional people, slaves to 
 the same idols of pleasure, became odious to him. 
 He was by nature capable of other pleasures but in- 
 capable of making the effort. The Englishman, in 
 such conditions, travels or kills himself for new sensa- 
 tions. The German gets drunk on beer and to- 
 bacco. The Frenchman, a brilliant, empty shell, 
 
THE STRONGEST 15 
 
 remains passive, the plaything of the elements, in the 
 inertia of slow dissolution. A sad spectacle, this 
 Paris crowd of brilliant surfaces without a deeper 
 life, tossed haphazard, shaken with false movements 
 which give the illusion of lif e. Worn-out sensations, 
 tarnished sentiments, dead ideas: the triumph of 
 appearances, the prestige of Lies. 
 
 Some time later Henri was calling on the notary at 
 Radegonde in order to sign some bills of sale and 
 invited himself to lunch with the manufacturer. 
 Mme. Harle astonished him, less by the cold regu- 
 larity of her features than by her haughty melan- 
 choly, as of royalty dethroned. Did her husband 
 say sulky, peevish? Nothing of the sort. But it 
 was clear that the catastrophe had left the traces of 
 an irreparable unhappiness on this wounded soul. 
 
 However cruel it may be, the loss of money ccanot 
 draw young lips into so bitter a line. Regret for a 
 loved father would have caused more abandon, and 
 not these suppressed tremors of revolt. The shaken, 
 wounded voice echoed sorrow. And yet the sweet 
 courtesy of her greeting, the strained but affable 
 smile, gave gentleness and harmony to the authority 
 of her dominant grace. Slender, supple, beautiful 
 with a lifeless beauty, her head high and imperious 
 under its crown of ash-coloured hair, Claire Harle 
 baffled the charmed gaze by her simple air of one who 
 has been beaten. What could be read in the trans-, 
 
16 THE STRONGEST 
 
 parent depths of those green eyes flecked with gold? 
 Puymaufray's searchings were lost in the impene- 
 trable mirror that took and held his gaze. 
 
 The conversation was dull, embarrassed. The 
 Parisian found himself awkward, lacking dash and 
 wit. It was the provincial, still warm with his ex- 
 periences of Paris, who was eloquent and gay. He 
 made no effort to conceal the fact that he had but one 
 interest in life, his factory, which was beginning to 
 prosper. He spoke of his great plans for the future. 
 And then, after a silence: 
 
 " All that would be ready now if it weren't for ... 
 those who crippled me at one blow." 
 
 Mme. Harle made no gesture of surprise at this 
 brutal reminder of her father's misfortunes. A 
 flash of red passed over her pale face and presently 
 she left the room as if to give some instructions, and 
 did not return. 
 
 "It's always this way," cried Dominic. "I wish 
 someone would tell me which of us two is the sufferer. 
 How can my mind be free for my work when I'm 
 always being harried by the provocations of a ner- 
 vous woman?" 
 
 "But aren't you provoking her deliberately and 
 uselessly?" asked Henri, timidly. 
 
 "That's exactly what she says. But you can 
 understand me. What did I want from marriage? 
 What everyone wants, eh? to better myself per- 
 sonally. And what did I get? I'm worse off, be- 
 
THE STRONGEST 17 
 
 cause of these eternal fetters on my work. I admit 
 that that isn't entirely my wife's fault, and I have too 
 much breeding to reproach her continually for her 
 father's ruin and the hardly honourable failure to live 
 up to agreements signed before a notary. But after 
 all, what am I but the commander of an industrial 
 army, risking my life and my honour on the field of 
 combat? Here I am in the thick of it, compelled to 
 make quick decisions, to do things irrevocably. How 
 can I remain master of my faculties and calm my 
 jumpy nerves when, right at the crisis, the decisive 
 forces slip away from their appointed place? If 
 I could suppress a cry, a rough gesture, at that mo- 
 ment, I would be an angel perhaps, but not the cap- 
 tain of industry I am proud to be." 
 
 Puymaufray said nothing. He looked at this 
 violent fighter, implacably obsessed by his purpose, 
 and his brutality, so cruel and shocking in the en- 
 chanting light of a pair of green eyes, seemed explain- 
 able if not excusable. 
 
 Black hair en brosse, a stiff beard, outlining the 
 energetic, harsh features, jerky gestures, a vibrant 
 voice, all indicated the master of the fierce poetry of 
 action. His wife, thought Henri, is of another world 
 of sensations and suggestions; that is the misfortune. 
 
 "No doubt there's your side," he hazarded, 
 timidly, "but there is also your wife's. She has the 
 right to a full development of her own life, just as 
 you have." 
 
18 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "My wife? What do you imagine I can get from 
 her? I wanted something secure to rest upon: the 
 dowry is gone. Nothing remains but the burden of 
 a useless, perturbing woman, with the misfortune 
 of having missed her duty in life, resenting faults 
 which she attributes to me in order to console herself 
 a little for the lack of foresight of her own people." 
 
 "You have your home." 
 
 "Yes. That's what people say. Bachelors. 
 Talk to me about home. Here. Take a look at 
 that huge smokestack out there. That's my 
 home." 
 
 The next day Henri let Nanette persuade him that 
 his presence at Puymauf ray was necessary for super- 
 vising urgent repairs to the chateau. Soon he was 
 treading the path to Radegonde every day. Per- 
 haps paper-making interested him; perhaps it was 
 Claire Harle who, after a pretence at indifference, 
 slowly relented and, in the end, yielded to the charm 
 of his sincerely surrendered heart. He was attracted 
 by her and neither desired nor dreamed of anything 
 more. He was driven out of his usual self, happy in 
 a new ecstasy, and, forgetting all his arts of seduction, 
 became strong by virtue of truth alone. 
 
 In the hum of the factory or the silence of the fields 
 Claire let herself be drawn into long talks. At first 
 Dominic tried to share their walks, but the factory 
 called him. Moreover, the tension of these two 
 spirits, drawn toward each other, seeking each other 
 
THE STRONGEST 19 
 
 by obscure and devious ways, made it tiresome for 
 him to follow. 
 
 "Who would have thought that Paris would make 
 you a poet of the fields?" he would say to Henri. 
 "That's the punishment for idleness. Instead of 
 going into ecstasies over an oak tree, get into the 
 stream of action in the world, turn back your cuffs, 
 make me a roll of paper out of this tree, bring up your 
 ignorant workers to some conception of industry, 
 increase the substance of mortal man: these are 
 worth more than plain living and high thinking." 
 
 "It's true I've stupidly wasted my life," replied 
 Henri. "It might have been good and useful. Only, 
 the sort of thing you call action isn't the only action. 
 Your paper isn't worth anything except for the ideas 
 which the spirit of man prints on it. You are an 
 agent, a middleman, not a master. It's the ecstasy 
 of the world, at which you are laughing, which ex- 
 plains you and justifies you. From it come, day by 
 day, the sensations that move men, and the maker 
 of paper even you have confessed it is moved by 
 a feeling for art." 
 
 "And is it from the great life of Paris, as M. HarlS 
 calls it, that you bring back this philosophy?" 
 
 "No, madame. I found it here too late. I 
 lived stupidly with the empty gestures of my class, 
 the sad remnants of a vanished glory. I am forty 
 years old. Whatever is left of my strength is useless 
 for any purpose. I have lost my fortune and my 
 
20 THE STRONGEST 
 
 youth, and here I am, a peasant, just where I began. 
 But at least I know the things I could not do." 
 
 He was thinking his thoughts out for the first 
 time. A new soul was being born in him and ex- 
 pressed itself in changed accents, in new gestures, 
 which gave the young woman the delicious pleasure 
 of recognizing something she was herself creating. 
 
 Rapidly her instinctive defence against him broke 
 down. She gave him her confidence. She told him 
 of her care-free youth in a convent, where complete 
 ignorance of the world was systematically and ob- 
 stinately worked out; of her invalid mother and 
 her father, engrossed in business; of the surprise 
 of her marriage at nineteen and her acceptance of 
 it with the assurance that all human happiness lay 
 therein. 
 
 "Really," she asked, "what more could our par- 
 ents do for us if they were our bitterest enemies? 
 When I think of the lies at school and at home, 
 falsifying our souls and corrupting our hearts, I won- 
 der that we have any sincerity and honesty left. 
 Tell me, where are the beautiful things we are 
 taught about the family and society? It seems we 
 are to discover the Higher Will in them. Then why 
 do I see, instead of the advertised beauties, nothing 
 but a battlefield in which the desires of the strongest 
 triumph? I know that everyone says we are to be 
 rewarded in heaven. Then show me those who are 
 really trying to live up to that belief." 
 
THE STRONGEST 21 
 
 "I will not try. I will only tell you that the evil 
 world of which you are the victim leaves you a refuge 
 in yourself. Brutality overwhelms you. But isn't 
 it your revenge to feel within yourself a power 
 stronger than what struck you down? And if it is 
 your lot to meet a heart hi which yours can expand, 
 if your strength doubles itself in its capacity for living, 
 do you not believe that out of your unhappiness a 
 joy on earth can come which will be greater than the 
 ecstasies of heaven?" 
 
 "Yes. That is how I thought about marriage. 
 But society had other views. My money and I were 
 riveted to each other. There was a magnetic attrac- 
 tion between my money and M. Harle's money. 
 That was enough. I had to follow. The mis- 
 fortune is that one day the money disappeared and 
 the woman remained, face to face with the irritable 
 master you know. After a year of frivolity my hus- 
 band suddenly dropped the mask. There was no 
 further need for finesse. His violence broke out 
 into gross reproaches against my father, who died 
 of despair. That was life's beginning for me . . . 
 at twenty. I am twenty-five now. I am older than 
 you are." 
 
 "No. No. Because I find you in the full revolt 
 of youth. And are you sure that all this misfortune 
 may not be of benefit to you? Without it you would 
 have continued your life of worldly pleasures. 
 What would it have done to you? I could show you 
 
22 THE STRONGEST 
 
 what it has done to others. Suffering has given you 
 a soul." 
 
 "And what is it to me? I suffer more, that's all. 
 You say I am in revolt. It is only talk. I am hope- 
 less, and the current carries me " 
 
 "Who knows? Perhaps your trials are nearing 
 'their end." 
 
 "Yes, I understand. You are here. It is much 
 for me to be able to speak as I have just spoken. 
 But you know well that there is nothing that can 
 come of it. I am not made for falsehood, and you 
 can only offer me a change of miseries." 
 
 Ever their thoughts returned, to break against the 
 invincible obstacle. Henri would say to himself: 
 "It is impossible; it can never be."J 
 
 And Claire thought: "The world, which struck 
 me down with the first blow, doesn't want to see me 
 raise myself again." And then in the depths of her 
 heart a voice murmured : " Why not ? ' ' 
 
 Alas ! she could not tell everything. She could not 
 confess the bitterest torture, her horror of infidelity, 
 born of sickening experience, of suffering, which 
 shamed her even while she hated it. 
 
 Henri knew enough. He had become timid, fear- 
 ful of breaking into the consolation which came 
 to him merely through living. He had said before: 
 "The most beautiful moment of love is when I 
 climb the stairs." Was that his love now? By what 
 name could he call this impetuous burst of feeling 
 
THE STRONGEST 23 
 
 which tortured him until the full satisfaction of their 
 meeting? He loved and expected nothing beyond 
 the delight of his love. Expecting nothing, he foresaw 
 no danger, and both of them were lured by their se- 
 curity until their hearts had yielded completely. 
 
 Unconsciously they let themselves talk of friend- 
 ship, of love unconstrained, incapable, undesirous 
 of holding themselves in check. Each in the bottom 
 of the soul had decided that they could live chastely 
 near each other, united by a sublime love. Thus 
 they pledged each other one night; softly, proud of 
 their ecstatic sufferings, drunk with their heavenly 
 flight. They swore, their hands clasped, their eyes 
 lost. And when they awoke from their trance, Na- 
 ture had reasserted her rights. They were no longer 
 mystic lovers, but man and wife. 
 
 They were not frightened; they were justified by 
 the inevitable. From that moment they neither 
 asked nor promised, abandoning themselves to Fate, 
 which seemed to shelter them under her wing. Was 
 happiness that magic talisman of Oriental tales which 
 rendered the possessor invisible? The unhappy 
 console themselves by showing their miseries. But 
 supreme felicity shuns display, indifferent to the 
 indifferent world. Only the social Law has fixed 
 the rigid forms under which happiness may be en- 
 joyed. 
 
 In their delirium, Henri and Claire forgot the law. 
 At first the question of breaking the veil of hypoc- 
 
24 THE STRONGEST 
 
 risy and of belonging openly to each other did not 
 occur. Dominic was wholly absorbed in his work. 
 His wife's indifference calmed him; he sensed a 
 vague desire for reconciliation and ascribed it to the 
 influence of his friend, whom he was glad to see 
 permanently settled at Puymaufray. He himself 
 was too busy with new developments in the factory, 
 making up what he had lost through the failure of 
 his father-in-law. Occasional trips to Paris were his 
 only diversion. 
 
 He had come home from one of these trips when 
 the family physician, Dr. Archambaud, took him 
 aside and said: 
 
 "My dear fellow, I have good news for you. Ac- 
 cording to all symptoms, your wife is bearing a child. 
 I haven't told her so outright, yet, because I wanted 
 to leave you the pleasure of confirming her hopes. 
 Congratulations . ' ' 
 
 The thought had never occurred to Dominic, who 
 cried out, "It's impossible, doctor." 
 
 "Excuse me. It must be possible, because it is 
 true." 
 
 "And I say No. Wait " 
 
 He tried to recall the time when he found himself 
 before a certain closed door which would not open 
 to his entreaties and his threats. At last he con- 
 ceded: 
 
 "Oh, well, if it's so, it's so." And he rushed into 
 his wife's room to congratulate her. 
 
THE STRONGEST 25 
 
 When, later, Claire and the doctor were alone, the 
 doctor suddenly saw what had escaped him before. 
 When Claire burst into tears, he said: "Do not 
 cry. I understand my mistake. Trust me. I will 
 arrange everything." 
 
 Dazed by the event, she was not surprised. "Go 
 to Puymaufray," she murmured. "Tell Henri 
 that I didn't know. I thought my fears were ground- 
 less. Now, what can I do? Nothing can be 
 changed. Our child must be born under this roof. 
 Henri must be generous, compassionate, and resigned 
 to the inevitable." 
 
 Archambaud kept his word. Puymaufray was 
 constrained to submit, for Claire's life. was at stake. 
 The doctor succeeded in deceiving Harle, and when 
 the child was born she was accepted without ques- 
 tion. Henri de Puymaufray took the child to the 
 font where she was registered as the daughter of 
 Dominic Harle and Claire Mornand, his wife. 
 
 Harle was in the fulness of his self-development 
 and was devoting his soul and his will to the business 
 of production. He would have been proud to have 
 an heir for his dynasty; now his hopes went out to 
 the son-in-law he would have. Henri, a failure, 
 Claire powerless, were far away from him. 
 
 However, a new life took possession of the lovers, 
 who were belittled by falsehood, but made great by 
 the child. With their renascent life came love. 
 They had no thought except to live by and with each 
 
26 THE STRONGEST 
 
 pther. But the most beautiful sentiments must be 
 translated into action, into everyday movements, 
 and must be realized by activity in full daylight. 
 The legal setting for love which can serve to con- 
 ceal every shade of emotion, from indifference to 
 hate, leaving love aside has at least the advantage 
 that it gives both parties the attitude of apparent 
 frankness. Lacking that, Claire and Henri had 
 given themselves to each other too completely not to 
 feel wounded by the brutal lie. Man resigns himself 
 to these constraints more easily than woman. What 
 could Puymaufray do as he dreamed in the desolate 
 solitude of his hearth while she whom he called his 
 wife watched over the crib of little Claudia? She 
 sought the absent husband, encountered the eyes of 
 the other one, the usurper who was also a victim, 
 and whose every movement toward the child was 
 false. But Henri suffered, humiliated as by an evil 
 act, an evil which he did and which fell back upon 
 him. 
 
 Claire at least was absorbed by her duty as a 
 mother, and suffered above all by the sacrifice which 
 she imposed on him whose love saved her from her- 
 self. Sorrow and joy in one, love dominates all with 
 its sovereign power, greater in suffering than in its 
 ecstasy. 
 
 When their first dizziness had passed they were 
 both astonished to find in themselves a power greater 
 than love. "How small a thing was my love," 
 
THE STRONGEST 27 
 
 said Claire, "when I gave myself to you. I was only 
 living for myself, and I asked nothing of you except 
 to forget my misfortunes. That was yesterday and 
 now it appears so far away. In these few months 
 how my whole being has been renewed by your 
 generosity." 
 
 "And what shall I say I who, in saving you, 
 first found out how to salvage my wasted life? I 
 gave you my hand, but it was you who drew me from 
 the abyss," said Henri. 
 
 "Why, say that from our two defeated lives we 
 have created a power for victory. "What was I? 
 A wreck lost in common wreckage as you were lost in 
 vulgar catastrophes. I owe it to you that I have 
 weathered the storm." 
 
 "And I, I owe it to you that I am alive again. 
 The world, which struck you down at the first en- 
 counter, corrupted me until all my power of reaction 
 was lost, and then came your eyes and I was saved. 
 And I see and marvel at what was hidden from me: 
 the misery of mankind and the sovereign solace of 
 love. I am conscious of the strength you have 
 given me, and my love is more beautiful than the 
 selfish joy of living. It will somehow give back to 
 you and to our child something of the soul which 
 you have given to me, so that some of your gentle- 
 ness may come to those who suffer on earth." 
 
 "My friend," replied Claire, "what I gave you 
 was already yours. Does the spark come from the 
 
28 THE STRONGEST 
 
 flint or from the steel? From the encounter. The 
 encounter is the miracle. The miracle is perhaps 
 greater if it is the eternal energy scattered in the 
 world which concentrates itself in us and by the 
 flash of the infinite ecstasy which leaps from our 
 souls make us divine for a day." 
 
 "I knew well enough it was a miracle when I lost 
 myself in your eyes. I saw mysterious lights flicker- 
 ing there. And then a flame burst out and shone 
 and dazzled, and I knew that an unheard-of thing 
 was coming to pass." 
 
 "The flint and the steel, I tell you. Two sepa- 
 rate lives suddenly fused to appease our mortal mis- 
 fortune by the inexhaustible felicity of love. What 
 a wager against Fate! Can we dare to say that the 
 miracle would have come to pass that you would 
 have understood me and loved me if you had met me 
 before I was tried by my sorrows and you deceived 
 by your joys? And do you think that I would 
 freely have chosen you when I came from the con- 
 vent? and even if I had done it, would I have been 
 the woman I ought to be for you if I had not suf- 
 fered?" 
 
 "And yet," ventured Henri, "in spite of every- 
 thing I am afraid. We have no remorse for the 
 present nor jealousy of the past. But don't you feel 
 as if there hung over us some fatality in the future? " 
 
 "I don't know," sighed Claire. "I thought I was 
 dead to everything when I really hadn't been born 
 
THE STRONGEST 29 
 
 to anything. Now I can see. Let Fate present the 
 bill. I will pay cheerfully." 
 
 "Yes, the charity given off by our love makes us 
 see our goodness reflected everywhere, and we say: 
 'I'll pay' like a debtor who is counting on the indul- 
 gence of his creditors. You say that you will not 
 pay too much for happiness. Do you mean even if 
 you paid for it with the loss of happiness?" 
 
 "I cannot lose it. Once I have had it, I have the 
 memory forever. I have had and still have enough 
 happiness to lull my sorrows, which do not come from 
 you, and unshaken love defies the Fates." 
 
 "But love," said Henri, tenderly, "that includes 
 our child, in whom our love prolongs itself." 
 
 "Ah well, and sha'n't we struggle for the sake of 
 our child? Shall we not accept for Claudia, and with 
 her, the last resort, which we did not dare to accept 
 for each other I mean exile? Let us live. That is 
 theionly price we have been asked to pay until now. 
 Say that you are willing to pay " 
 
 Indeed all they had to do was to live. This pay- 
 ment, which seems easy, does not come without its 
 cruel surprises. 
 
 Dominic was not at all a jealous father, and his 
 first acts of authority over the child were naturally 
 tempered by the sovereign desires of the mother. 
 But already it was clear that the legal power was 
 not on the distaff side and that a powerful will was 
 .applying itself to arrange everything in Claudia's 
 
30 THE STRONGEST 
 
 soul to prepare her for the destiny which he was plan- 
 ning for his own advantage, the selfish ambition of a 
 master. There was a decisive difference between 
 what he wanted and what they wanted who drew 
 their authority from life itself, whose sole object 
 was the completest and most beautiful development 
 of the soul of the child, for her own sake and through 
 her for those she might eventually help. At first 
 this divergence of purpose was more a sorrowful fear 
 than a real wound. And besides, Claire was there. 
 That was enough. 
 
 Six years of happiness, six eternities, six flashes 
 of lightning for the day of reckoning. The creditor 
 who presented himself was Death. 
 
 In three days Claire, flourishing in more than 
 human beauty, strong with a limitless passion for 
 life, reflecting in the luminous depths of her eyes 
 the divine joy of things, was laid rigid and cold 
 in the coffin where all human pleasures come to 
 an end. It happened that Dominic was in Norway 
 on business. Henri, incapable of playing a part, 
 would have completed the misery by some act of 
 madness. 
 
 Three days, of which every minute was to remain 
 graven in each fibre of his being; three days of un- 
 speakable torture in the deceptions of hope; three 
 days of heroic combat which ended in the inevit- 
 able defeat. 
 
THE STRONGEST 31 
 
 In the delirium of death Claire repeated one 
 prayer: 
 
 "Henri, Henri you must live. I want you to. 
 You must live for me, for Claudia!" 
 
 To the last breath the blanched lips murmured: 
 "Live." 
 
 And the invocation to life ended only when death 
 sealed the lips of Claire Mornand, wife of Puymau- 
 fray. 
 
 Grief has no words, the heart no sobbing for irre- 
 parable disasters. The consoling peace of the tomb 
 is the temptation for helpless weakness. Henri did 
 not think of dying, for he felt himself already dead. 
 
 He was shaken with a terrible start when he was 
 told that Dominic was coming home. It was too 
 much. He felt that he must leave. Without con- 
 sulting him Nanette took him at once to Milan where 
 he had spent some lovely days in a brief flight with 
 Claire. The atrium of St. Ambrose, where once he 
 had dreamed, hand in hand with Claire, gave him a 
 twinge of pain which suddenly broke out in a burst 
 of tears. Each day he came to cry there and to find 
 his life again in the solace of tears. 
 
 One day Nanette decided that the time had come, 
 and said simply: "There's little Claudia." 
 
 "I know," said Henri. "I am ready. Let us 
 start." 
 
 At six Claudia could not be melancholy, and in 
 her mourning clothes she seemed smiling and gay 
 
32 THE STRONGEST 
 
 at the arrival of her "uncle." It was a bitter blow 
 for his sorrowing heart; nor was it the last. 
 
 An odd little creature, good hearted, playful, she 
 treated Henri with bursts of affection and with dis- 
 concerting brusquerie. Puymaufray, shaken with 
 his eternal sorrow, sought the dead woman in this 
 frail spirit whose flower was growing on the ruins of 
 his world. Haunted by the idea that he must live 
 for Claudia because that was living for Claire, he 
 accepted the torture of continuing life in order to 
 continue his love, to make her who was dead live 
 again in the living child. 
 
 In the mobile face of the child he discovered traces 
 of the sweet gravity of her mother. He gave these 
 resemblances authority, ingeniously re-created at- 
 titudes, expressions, tones of the voice, and stub- 
 bornly attempted to resurrect what was dead. 
 
 Her eyes her eyes, above all were a sharp, 
 continual torment to him. Titian's Caterina Cor- 
 naro in Florence has eyes so strangely coloured that 
 innumerable copyists, furiously at work before the 
 immutable canvas, make the eyes a gray or blue or 
 brown. When you are close to them the play of 
 changing light colours them with indefinable tints. 
 Such were Claudia's eyes, fugitive of definition. 
 The arrow of her gaze sped from the slender bow of 
 her eyebrows. There was nothing of the tranquil 
 serenity of her mother's look. They gave no resting 
 place for confidence, no repose.- And yet, in the 
 
THE STRONGEST 33 
 
 changing iris there were at times flashes of green with 
 which Claire's spirit seemed to tremble into life. 
 Henri feverishly looked out for these flashes and fell 
 back at once into the night of darkness. But even 
 in the dark the possessing light of the dead shone in 
 him with the indomitable power of love. He felt 
 her moving, saw her, obstinately tried to bring her 
 back from the beyond in the child of her body and 
 of her heart. It was the eternal ecstasy and the 
 eternal torture of a lif e devoted to the effort of mak- 
 ing a dream come true. 
 
 Puymaufray made Claudia love him because he 
 loved her, only to find Dominic already installed in 
 her soul, the legal father arrayed against the legiti- 
 mate pretender. 
 
 Dominic was soon consoled, and thought of and 
 lived by the factory alone. Claudia was only one 
 card in his hand, and not the lowest. She was the 
 bait for the aristocratic marriage which was to crown 
 his life of labour. Harle wanted to prepare every- 
 thing for this high future, to arrange everything in 
 her spirit, and every detail of her education was 
 planned by him for his own purposes. 
 
 He had to discuss his ambitions, and made Henri 
 his confidant; twisting the dagger by endless obser- 
 vations in which the child appeared only as a tool 
 for his own greatness. In vain Henri protested that, 
 the child had a will of her own, a personality. 
 
 "I am considering that," answered the manu- 
 
34 THE STRONGEST 
 
 facturer. "You will see whether I can work human 
 pulp as well as paper pulp." 
 
 Puymauf ray felt the chill as of a sword-blade pass 
 through him into Claire's heart. He was shaken by 
 a fury: to defend, at all cost, his daughter, his love, 
 the dead woman who was coming to lif e, against this 
 infamous enterprise. At whatever disadvantage, 
 he must fight. Love would be stronger than the 
 lies of the world. The tortured father grew crafty 
 in his tricks to save his daughter from the other 
 one. 
 
 Harle had to be managed first. Henri applied 
 himself, tried to gain his confidence. Dominic 
 sensed his weakness and took advantage of it. 
 However, the friendship of the Marquis de Puy- 
 maufray was by no means a negligible factor in 
 Harle's plans for the future. So, occasionally, he 
 made concessions to the "prejudices" of his friend, 
 but he never yielded in anything essential. 
 
 After something of a tussle he agreed to renounce 
 the social advantages of a convent school, but Henri, 
 to whom the very thought of separation was like 
 death, saw a governess straight from the hands of 
 the Jesuits installed instead. This lady, duly for- 
 tified with parental authority, at once began to foment 
 a revolt against "your godfather's notions." The 
 " notions" were to open the child's heart to truth, 
 goodness, pity to sentiments of human compassion 
 from which the impulse to give aid might spring. 
 
THE STRONGEST 35 
 
 Harle's desire was to make "his daughter" a power 
 for his use. 
 
 There is an art of using the words "devotion" and 
 "sacrifice" so that they call up emotions quite dis- 
 tinct from those that they should connote. What is 
 more banal than the exhortation to be charitable? 
 and what action is more rare than disinterested help, 
 given without hope of heavenly recompense or 
 worldly praise? Organized charity, of Church or 
 State, subjecting each and all to the prevailing for- 
 mula, becomes an excuse for ferocious egotism, freed 
 from all restraint. Henri tried to arm the child 
 against the lessons of these realities. But he came 
 up against the development of her self instinctive 
 at first and, later, encouraged by class education. 
 
 Claudia listened to the discussions of which she 
 was the object. People all said the same thing, but 
 the practical conclusions were so different. 
 
 No one expressly advised her to be indifferent to 
 the miseries of others. The seed of selfishness needs 
 no cultivation. * ' Be good, Claudy ; love your fellow- 
 men who suffer while all the joys of the world are pre- 
 pared for you," she was told. But what could be 
 the effect of these words when she was forever seeing 
 miseries that could be alleviated, but which no one 
 made any effort to alleviate? A curt word of re- 
 fusal, spoken in the hurry of life; a gesture of dis- 
 gust with the sordid beings from another world; 
 the common cry, "I can't help everyone," which 
 
36 THE STRONGEST 
 
 often expresses lack of will, not lack of capacity, to 
 help; these sink deep into the attentive soul of a child. 
 
 In spite of her childish understanding Claudia felt 
 that there was a power over her. Her "godfather," 
 whom she loved, used to speak to her of her mother, 
 whose name no one else mentioned in her presence. 
 At the same time he made her feel vaguely that he 
 was a spirit tensely resisting the rest of the world. 
 "The rest of the world" was her governess, Mme. 
 Marie-Therese, with her sugared flattery, and Harle, 
 redoubtable to others but prodigal to her with eternal 
 seductions for her vanity. 
 
 Puymaufray watched her grow, and finding more 
 and more of the mother in the child, waited for the 
 time when she could reason. 
 
 "It was suffering," he told himself, "which forged 
 Claire's soul. And there will be plenty of suffering 
 here." 
 
 He forgot that for their hazardous miracle Claire 
 and he had both been required; he for his love, she 
 for her rebellion against the vulgar gifts of the world. 
 
 Claudia Harle, a young girl now, conscious of her 
 beauty and wealth, looked down from a height upon 
 the world. Happy to be alive, proud of her life, 
 she took possession of the world and loved it as it 
 was, since she was happy in it. She went to Paris 
 often with Mme. Marie-Therese and her father. 
 While she was gone Henri lived in a trance. And 
 inevitably the return to Radegonde was a bitter sur- 
 
THE STRONGEST A 37 
 
 prise to him. But how could he complain of the 
 joys of twenty? Would he not alienate forever the 
 heart he was trying to conquer and to protect? 
 
 Visits, dancing parties, innocent remarks of de- 
 pravity with which precocious youth amuses itself; 
 the theatre, with its sometimes risque commen- 
 taries; the good Fathers with their benign advice, 
 all shared Claudia's happy life. To her, all these 
 things seemed, and really were, of a miraculous 
 unity. Her "godfather" alone was off key. From 
 time to time a brief note from his daughter startled 
 him, wounded him, by a word innocently dropped, 
 tormented him and made him despair of the extrav- 
 agances which he, the too expert Parisian, under- 
 stood all too well. Sometimes he ran up to Paris, 
 "to share their pleasures," in the suffering of a life 
 which had been flung from its orbit. 
 
 Harle was not afraid to take his daughter to the 
 house of the beautiful Comtesse de Fourchamps, 
 nee Billaud, who, with twenty thousand francs 
 income by her marriage contract, enjoyed even 
 while her husband was alive more than a hundred 
 thousand francs through friendship with the famous 
 Baron Oppert. At Puymaufray's first objections 
 Harle nailed him with one word. 
 
 "My daughter meets your relatives, your friends 
 the finest families in France there. There isn't 
 a more respectable salon in Paris." 
 
 It was true. 
 
CHAPTER H 
 
 PUYMATJFRAY'S face was whipped by the 
 wind as he rode into the battle. The 
 hedges, the trees, and stones along his way 
 spoke to him of Claire. She had passed there. 
 "Soon it will be my turn," he said to himself, "each 
 passing hour is a step toward peace." 
 
 He drew rein in the huge park, and the imitation 
 grottos and dreary waterfalls disgusted him, although 
 they had passed unseen before. Now he was shocked, 
 for his misfortune had brought him back to the com- 
 mon feelings of humanity. 
 
 "Good morning, Uncle," cried a gay voice from 
 the steps. "I was just having them hitch up the 
 pony to come and have lunch with you." 
 
 "The old folk are getting ahead of the young nowa- 
 days," he answered, laughing, softening the reproach 
 with a huge kiss. 
 
 "Papa is at the factory and doesn't want to be 
 disturbed. Suppose we go down to St. Aubin. 
 We've got two hours ahead of us." 
 
 "Let's. I'm ready." 
 
 Claudia was charming in her little fur toque; a 
 blue jacket and a straight skirt set off her adolescent 
 
THE STRONGEST 39 
 
 figure, and had it not been for the excessively Pari- 
 sian face she would have seemed charmingly young 
 and quietly elegant. 
 
 "What are we going to do at St. Aubin?" said 
 Henri, after vainly trying to reconcile himself to 
 something harsh in Claudia's youthful face. 
 
 "We're going to see a farmer's boy who had his 
 fingers cut off in the sawmill yesterday." 
 
 "I suppose he's had everything done for him al- 
 ready?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure Papa's looked after everything. 
 These people would not lack for anything. They 
 are very pious." 
 
 "And if they weren't pious?" 
 
 " Then they'd only get what the law allows. Papa 
 wants everyone to go to church." 
 
 "And what do you think of all that?" 
 
 "Oh, me? I'd go to see them of my own accord 
 just as I'm going to-day, because they're in trouble. 
 However, I understand Papa. People need religion." 
 
 "His religion, exactly?" 
 
 "Oh, his! He does his duty. That's enough. 
 We don't ask more of any one." 
 
 "Well, I thought that religion was the doing of 
 good something more than appearing in the tem- 
 ple and I never saw compulsory religion do any- 
 thing more than make a decoration for deceit." 
 
 "I am not capable of discussing that with you, 
 Uncle. All I know is that God has created two 
 
40 THE STRONGEST 
 
 classes of people, the rich and the poor. And 
 we ought to see that our inferiors practise the 
 religion that teaches them to submit to the trial of 
 life." 
 
 "Why it might be Dominic himself talking. He 
 is one of the superiors, he is, and so he consoles him- 
 self with the trials of others." 
 
 "Why, Uncle Henri, you're not going to criticize 
 Papa, are you? He is very good and so are you." 
 
 "And so are you, and everybody. It's a pity that 
 with all this goodness there's so much unhappiness 
 on earth." 
 
 "There isn't so much as you say, Uncle. Do you 
 think that the people that work in the factory are 
 unhappy? Papa gives them work to do and lets 
 them earn their living." 
 
 "They give him something in return, too, don't 
 they?" 
 
 "Well, of course; because we're on the side of the 
 'superiors'. And besides, Papa works, too a lot. 
 You're an anarchist, Uncle; that's what you are. 
 To hear you talk, no one would ever guess that you 
 were once a Zouave for the Pope." 
 
 "I wasn't of my own accord, child." 
 
 They had struck off from the main road and gone 
 down a path that was frozen over. The earth, 
 powdered with hoar-frost, was closed against all 
 living things, hiding under its icy mantle the mystery 
 of the birth of the future. There is a poetry of 
 
THE STRONGEST 41 
 
 winter, healthier and more germane to the strength 
 of man than the torpor of the summer. It is a time of 
 ungrateful struggles against the elements, a time 
 of suffering, but what strength in the knowledge that 
 victory comes at the end! Henri spoke of it to 
 Claudia, who cheerfully decided that that proved 
 that everything was for the best on earth. 
 
 She marvelled at birds of passage flying in a wedge 
 against the wind. "You see, Uncle, there must be 
 someone at the head." 
 
 "Yes, my dear, but those at the head have the 
 hardest work. It isn't at all like that with us." 
 
 JU 
 
 The injured man, seated by the ash-strewn hearth, 
 his hand swathed in bloody rags, seemed to take his 
 misfortune philosophically. 
 
 "I can still work," he said. And then he added, 
 naively, "I'll be exempt from service." 
 
 As Claudia had foreseen, he lacked nothing. Per- 
 haps his old mother expressed her gratitude for the 
 visit too humbly? But how be strict in the measure 
 of things when you depend on someone else for the 
 right to be alive, for the right to suffer? 
 
 The expression of joy at the prospect of escaping 
 military service shocked Claudia, who spoke of it as 
 they were returning. 
 
 "I don't like his want of heroism, either," said 
 Henri. "But tell me, what could we know of the 
 real feelings of these people if education had given 
 
42 THE STRONGEST 
 
 tliem the veneer of hypocrisy? They show them- 
 selves naked, while others, whose words do not wound 
 you, are often worse. And besides, this poor fellow, 
 who sees military service only as a crushing burden 
 in peace time, might rush into the front rank and be 
 killed in defence of his home. The best thing we 
 can do is to give each one something to defend. We 
 have judged others too hastily it is a harder thing 
 to understand them." 
 
 They had regained the high road, and were march- 
 ing along with the physical satisfaction of movement, 
 when a cart which came up to them stopped sud- 
 denly. Count Armand de Hauteroche, who leaped 
 from it, was a gentleman of good family, a rustic in 
 every sense of the word. Totally lacking in culture, 
 a great hunter and horseman, the young squire was 
 wasting at inns what remained of his fortune, scuffling 
 with the farmwife while the farmer was out, crack- 
 ing broad jokes with peasants at the fairs. Puy- 
 mauf ray was disagreeably surprised at his familiarity 
 with Claudia. He did not know that Hauteroche 
 was looked upon with so much favour at Radegonde. 
 His displeasure grew when the newcomer, without 
 formality, announced that he would keep them com- 
 pany to the chateau. Lunch was inevitable. The 
 girl seemed not displeased, and the walk terminated 
 with stupid remarks about the weather and the pleas- 
 ures of the countryside. 
 
 Dominic's reception was calm. He had not for- 
 
THE STRONGEST 43 
 
 given Henri for speaking ill of the Comtesse de 
 Fourchamps whose grace cast a charm over his 
 innocence. At once Hauteroche noisily attracted 
 the master's attention. He told stories, was re- 
 markably skilful in keeping the centre of the stage. 
 
 Harle took his revenge over the coffee, in the con- 
 servatory. 
 
 "My dear count," he said, "your hunting adven- 
 tures are the finest in the world. But look! you only 
 chase after beasts. Did you ever realize that I am 
 a hunter, too? Without capering about in the ice 
 and the mud I send out my pack of workers to con- 
 quer the world. It's good sport. And then I don't 
 commit useless massacre. I exact a tribute just as 
 your ancestors did." 
 
 The count did not contradict, although he resented 
 the comparison between his ancestors and this paper- 
 maker. But you had to be indulgent to a millionaire, 
 especially if he had a pretty daughter to marry off. 
 While Mme. Marie-Therese explained the miracles 
 of Our Lady of the Shop to Henri, Hauteroche went 
 into raptures over the wonderful grotto in which a 
 steam pump shot a torrent of water over some fish in 
 the noisy basin below. That seemed to him the 
 highest expression of art, and he shouted his apprecia- 
 tion. 
 
 "How I'd like to be a captain of industry," "he 
 cried, suddenly, with excessive enthusiasm. 
 
 "I can very well believe it," said Harle, modestly 
 
44 THE STRONGEST 
 
 triumphant. " The Pope can make me a count more 
 easily than you a manufacturer of paper." 
 
 This time the scion of nobility felt that the bour- 
 geois had gone beyond the limit. He had to keep an 
 appointment to see some horses. After he had gone 
 Dominic took Henri's arm. 
 
 "Well, old chap, you aren't saying a thing. I'll 
 bet you're thinking of a beautiful Comtesse de Hau* 
 teroche whose first name is Claudia." 
 
 "You're crazy!" 
 
 "Well, I've thought of it. The Hauteroche cha- 
 teau is a beauty. I could make it fit for a prince." 
 
 "Not forgetting the cellars, eh?" 
 
 "Yes; I know; the count does get a bit rough. 
 But my money would soon give him back his family 
 pride. And my own power, plus ancestors " 
 
 "And what about me, Papa?" cried Claudia. 
 "What would I be doing?" 
 
 "You would do every thing. All I think of is 
 your happiness. You have everything except a 
 great name. Do you dare to say that you haven't 
 winked your eye at Hauteroche?" 
 
 "I do. It's a lovely name. I should have urinked, 
 as you say, if I'd listened to Mme. Marie-Therese 
 celebrating the glories of the house. But really, 
 that's going a little too fast. I'm twenty. I don't 
 think I'll lack chances. It seems to me I'll have my 
 pick." 
 
 "That's fine, my child. But I'm suspicious of 
 
THE STRONGEST 45 
 
 Paris. Its vices are worse and more costly than 
 those of the country. Hauteroche is stupid because 
 of the taint in the line. Did you notice the lesson 
 I read him a little while ago? You have to be a 
 republican nowadays. Even the Pope's one. He 
 has his reasons, I think." 
 
 "Don't you think," asked Puymaufray, "that you 
 are all talking about marriage as if it were an indus- 
 trial combine?" 
 
 "It won't be you who'll change the world," said 
 Harle, drily. "If life gets mixed up with the ques- 
 tion of income, it's not our fault. We can't do any- 
 thing. My duty to my daughter is to combine all 
 the conditions of happiness. I put an ever-flourish- 
 ing financial condition first. She will have to look 
 out for the rest." 
 
 "And I think I can go as far from that beginning 
 as any one. But I warn you, Papa, / shall have a 
 word to say." 
 
 "That's understood. You won't refuse to accept 
 advice from the Comtesse de Fourchamps." And 
 (as Henri could not restrain a gesture): "Listen, 
 Henri, don't make a fool of yourself. It is incredible 
 that a Parisian, of family, should become so pro- 
 vincial. You know better than most people what 
 the gossip of Paris amounts to. You've got some- 
 thing against the comtesse, that's all. Well, you're 
 wrong. The comtesse is beautiful, loved, honoured 
 by everyone. What's more, we're expecting her 
 
46 THE STRONGEST 
 
 here. You aren't going to sulk, I hope. She won't 
 let you." 
 
 "And when is Mme. la comtesse coming?" 
 
 "In three days* Somebody wants me. Good- 
 night." 
 
 "Claudy, you were coming to lunch with me to- 
 day," said Henri. "Let me expect you to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Henri; I'd love to come." 
 
 Night had fallen, Henri de Puymaufray returned 
 to his lonely hearth, wondering whether he could, 
 with the help of the dead, stand against the powers 
 he saw so clearly, so strongly arrayed against him. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A AHE next morning, when the pony trotted into 
 the yard at Puymaufray, Henri, who was 
 
 * watching for it from the window, came down 
 the steps like a gladiator going into the arena. 
 Nanette, who was also on the lookout from her 
 dormer window, catching sight of -Mme. Marie- 
 Therese's sharp face, wrapped in shawls and blue 
 with the wind, shut her lips and, with a hard look, 
 shot at her some unchristian wishes like an arrow 
 whistling her welcome. 
 
 However, Claudia and the marquis, arm in arm 
 like two lovers, had already crossed the threshold, 
 with bursts of laughter and joyous gestures, and 
 when Nanette came down into the oak-timbered 
 room which Puymaufray used for a study, two 
 young kisses smacked her cheeks. 
 
 "How are you, Nanette? What have you been 
 thinking of me back three days without coming 
 over for the news? It just couldn't be arranged 
 and not my fault at that. Would you believe it, 
 uncle never said a word yesterday, and I didn't make 
 any excuses either, so as not to tell fibs." 
 
 "Well, then, Missy, don't begin now. Friendship 
 
 47 
 
48 THE STRONGEST 
 
 is rare in this world. And when you have a god- 
 father like yours, you can't love him too much. 
 You'll realize it later on.'* 
 
 "Here," cried Puymaufray, "if you're going to 
 start lecturing you'd better get back to your work. 
 Besides, Mme. Marie-Therese is frozen. Go settle 
 her comfortably before the fire and see to lunch. 
 We're going for a walk in the park; we'll be back in 
 less than an hour." 
 
 It was half park, half garden. There were flower 
 beds with high hedges radiating from a fountain 
 under an Ionic cupola; there were rose bushes and 
 vegetables and fruit trees and lawns, dark in the 
 shadow of great oaks, and the ruddy trunks of pine 
 trees bent against the storm, all in magnificent dis- 
 order. Claudia loved this confusion. She instinc- 
 tively realized that the imitation English park at 
 Radegonde, with its cement rocks and the Harle 
 monogram over the gate, was not the last word in 
 art. But the vegetables were too much for the pupil 
 of Mme. Marie-Therese. 
 
 "Uncle," she protested, "your park is very beauti- 
 ful, all over ice and with this light on it. But don't 
 you think these cabbages might be planted some- 
 where else?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, they might. I could spend a lot 
 of money here disentangling the jumble; I wish I 
 had never spent my money for worse than that. 
 And yet I find it charming. And so, instead of 
 
THE STRONGEST 49 
 
 changing it, I give it away to those who are sighing 
 for a bit of land. Every spring I assign them lots, 
 and I am well repaid by the rosy cheeks of the chil- 
 dren. It's just transferring pleasure." 
 " That's true, Uncle. You're very good." 
 "No. I am just a man. At least I won that from 
 my ruin. You see, wealth isolates the heart. We 
 get rich and we're surrounded by the selfishness of 
 those who have been beaten, and the worse selfish- 
 ness of those who have won out. I suppose if I were 
 a great manufacturer I would be like Harle. I 
 would stake my glory on making bigger profits by 
 cutting down wages. But as I happen to be a fallen 
 feudal chieftain . . . well, all I can do is to 
 laugh at Nanette when she gets angry because those 
 that I've helped take advantage of me and pilfer 
 my fruit or sneak off with my firewood." 
 
 "But surely you don't excuse that sort of thing?" 
 "Why, yes, I do. I get the feeling of being gener- 
 ous for the little I do for them. But they think it's 
 so trivial compared with what I might do. The 
 difference in our points of view causes some misun- 
 derstanding." 
 
 "Well, but we can't give everything away to other 
 people." 
 
 "Never fear. We'll be spared that calamity. 
 But I do want to make you understand one thing. 
 I want you to know that the world that you see is 
 deformed by wealth. And then I want you to realize 
 
50 THE STRONGEST 
 
 that there is another world, which is deformed by 
 poverty. You have a duty to that second world. 
 A change in your fortune would show you how close 
 you are to it. Instead of running away from it, 
 go toward it with open hands, and you will be hap- 
 pier in giving yourself to the lowest than you can 
 ever be in parading around with your class." 
 
 "But we do do good. Papa does." 
 
 "Yes; by debit and credit; part of the invisible 
 expenses of running his plant. He assures his posi- 
 tion in the cure's paradise and then gouges for twice 
 as much those to whom he had done good. He 
 doesn't know the value of a kind word which goes 
 right to the heart. It isn't his fault. He never 
 had a chance to suffer. He would have to be ruined." 
 
 "And me? do you want me to have that chance?" 
 
 "Perhaps. Why do you need more land than I 
 will leave you? Poor dear, your millions will bring 
 ; you more misery than you think. They'll make 
 you a pretty little artificial thing with your soul for- 
 ever false, unless you can protect yourself against 
 the corruption that goes on every hour of the day. 
 I was a millionaire, too. I did a great deal of harm 
 to others and to myself without ever realizing what 
 I was missing. A chance I didn't deserve saved 
 
 me from the abyss f And besides, I am a man. 
 
 Society doesn't give women the chance to win back." 
 
 Claudia heard him without understanding. She 
 felt that she was being held back, by the power of a 
 
THE STRONGEST 51 
 
 true love, from all the things which promised her 
 happiness. What was the object of this fierce pas- 
 sion which wanted her to be ruined? A thousand 
 questions rushed to her lips, but she did not dare to 
 express them. Puymaufray was vexed by this silent 
 resistance and realized his mistake. He was speak- 
 ing out his thoughts without trying to enter into the 
 thoughts of her whom he wished to persuade. In 
 vain he looked for a way. And both, loving each 
 other, pursued their separate paths, hardly conscious 
 of the fact that their pleasant talk was ending in 
 silence, troubled with unspoken misunderstandings. 
 
 The bell rang out for lunch and called them back 
 to each other. Claudia flung her arms around Puy- 
 maufray 's neck, and cried; 
 
 "Uncle, dear, I love you, and I know you love me. 
 I know you're hurt by the way I feel about things, 
 but that's the way the world seems, to me. I must 
 be wrong. But Papa tells me exactly the opposite, 
 and every day he proves what he says, with examples 
 in real life. Please forgive my stupid brain and kiss 
 me. I know you want me to be happy." 
 
 "What else could I want, dear child?" 
 
 They signed their truce with kisses, and went to- 
 ward Nanette and Mme. Marie-Therese, who seemed 
 to be having a most friendly conversation near the 
 fountain. 
 
 Nanette hadn't wasted her time. Without beat- 
 ing about the bush she had worked her way into the 
 
52 THE STRONGEST 
 
 favour of this astute woman whose intellectual supe- 
 riority she took pains to announce. She had won her 
 confidence and was rewarded by having the gover- 
 ness tell her at great length of the noble house of 
 Hauteroche. At last she cried out: 
 
 "Our Miss Claudia will make a lovely comtesse." 
 "I should say so," replied Mme. Marie-Therese, 
 "only I never even thought of that." 
 
 Lunch was very gay. Claudia's final words had 
 set the sun shining in Henri's heart, and the girl was 
 happy to see the happiness she had brought. When 
 they were alone beside the little table where the 
 coffee was served Claudia said suddenly: 
 
 "Well, Uncle, tell me what you want me to do." 
 "But all I want is for you to be yourself, my dear. 
 I want you to be honest and good, instead of yielding 
 to the temptations all around you. I don't doubt 
 that your father loves you. But he loves you for 
 himself and I love you for yourself. He thinks he's 
 doing the right thing by making you a part of his 
 ambitions for money and place. He wants to make 
 you the instrument for his happiness and for yours. 
 But what would you do with all that magnificence? 
 I know. You would exhaust its brief pleasures and 
 then you would be bored. And, when you were 
 blasee and your heart was empty, you would still 
 have the authority of your beauty and the power 
 of your wealth to expend in Heaven knows what 
 follies. You know by this time what a girl can do in 
 
THE STRONGEST 53 
 
 Paris. You were dragged off to Italy when you were 
 too young to understand. They took the flower 
 of your freshness and flung it into the wind. They 
 stole away the pleasure of wanting things. Think 
 of something you might want. There's nothing 
 left. And now they're talking of marrying you. 
 What do you expect from marriage? Your vanity 
 will be satisfied. And then? 
 
 "Oh, so it's Hauteroche that's on your mind. 
 Well, must I be destined to unhappiness just because 
 I'll be a comtesse? You're a marquis yourself, Uncle. 
 That's why you can make fun of the nobility." 
 
 "I'm not making fun of it. I'm judging it. It's 
 a feather in the cap, the conventional thing for 
 millionaires nowadays. My grandfather Pannetier, 
 who paid for my father's name with his fortune, got 
 rich by selling paper shoes to the defenders of the 
 empire. The founder of my family, not so many 
 centuries ago, was a dirty shepherd, you can tell 
 that by our name, Lepastre. I'd like to show you an 
 ancestor of the Montmorencys say in Caesar^s time. 
 From what incredible mixtures we spring! Even 
 Hauteroche ' ' 
 
 "But, Uncle, you saw very well that I don't want 
 to marry Hauteroche." 
 
 "I never thought that you'd let them marry you 
 to that drunkard. And yet you didn't discourage 
 him any too much. You even took the trouble to 
 conceal his hopes from me. And yet I don't know 
 
54 THE STRONGEST 
 
 but what you will do worse if Mme. la Comtesse 
 de Fourchamps is to be your guide. That woman 
 wouldn't be at Radegonde if your mother were alive." 
 
 "Mme. la Comtesse will not impose on me, Uncle. 
 I will make my own choice, and I promise you I 
 won't choose without getting your advice." 
 
 "Oh, Claudia, Claudia dear, how well you guessed 
 what I wanted you to say. You don't know, dearest, 
 how much I love you. I want you to be a real 
 woman loving, loved,. good because love comes to 
 goodness in the end. Nothing else can make you 
 content with yourself can put you above the ups 
 and downs of life. No one ever talks to you about 
 your mother; I myself hesitate and tremble to talk 
 about her. But a time has come for decision. You 
 have to choose between vulgar pleasures which are 
 only appearance, and the true happiness, the human 
 happiness which comes from a life nobly spent. I 
 have told you that I lived vilely until the day when 
 your wonderful mother opened my eyes and made 
 me a better man. The run of mankind was as far 
 from me at that time as they seem to you to-day. 
 I was in another world, as people stupidly say. And 
 all of a sudden I saw that it was wrong, that we must 
 love one another and help one another. To-morrow 
 sorrow may come to you and you will look for the 
 solace of a kind word. If I have saved anything 
 from the wreck of a misspent life, I owe it to your 
 mother. I owe her everything. And since a terrible 
 
THE STRONGEST 55 
 
 fate has taken her away I am trying to pay my debt 
 to you if you want. Now do you understand?" 
 
 "Oh, Uncle, why have you never spoken this way 
 to me before?" 
 
 "I have, my dear. But I spoke badly. To-day 
 danger has made me brave. There is more. When 
 your mother died I would have died with her, and in 
 her last agony she saw in my eyes that I would die. 
 She cried out that I must live for you. It was her 
 last word: and I have lived. And here I am, trying 
 to find and set apart whatever she put into you of her 
 spirit, because you are of her soul and her blood and 
 her heart, and you must not be false to her. But 
 the world is strong and can drag the upright spirit 
 from its proper path. Even those who love you are 
 carried away and try to carry you with them. And 
 I am fighting to hold you. Day by day I have fought 
 for twenty years. I have been without skill, with- 
 out persistence, unworthy of the obligation your 
 mother put upon me, often near defeat, alone against 
 everyone, always resisting desperately this combina- 
 tion of the strongest. But when I was deserted by 
 all humanity, some power cried out your mother's 
 name in the depths of my soul, and it wag enough 
 to win, for she loves you still through me. The good- 
 ness of your heart returns, goes back to her to us. 
 I am crying because I have suffered. But you are 
 crying, too, and that makes suffering a joy. Your 
 mother is coming back. Do not speak: I see her." 
 
56 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Sobbing in each other's arms they clung together 
 as if never to be separated again. 
 
 "Uncle, dear," said Claudia, finally, "God bless 
 you for giving me this hour. I am only a child. Oh, 
 how you must love me to be able to speak that way 
 to me! And I I misunderstood you. I am 
 frivolous and foolish and ungrateful. Your heart 
 was open to me and I closed mine. Say that you 
 forgive me." 
 
 "I cannot say the word. I love you." 
 
 "Yes, yes. Say: 'I forgive you; I want you to 
 obey me.' " 
 
 "I forgive you. I want you to obey me." 
 
 "Now, I will obey you, daddy." 
 
 Henri had a moment of terrible happiness at the 
 name; he started. Claudia went on: 
 
 "You see, I'm not really bad, and I always come 
 to you first. Only you're so sad and the world is so 
 young and so beautiful." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "It seems so to me. And you can't wonder that 
 I just let myself go. You wouldn't want to lock me 
 up at Radegonde? Papa makes things too easy for 
 me, I know. You reproach him because of the future. 
 Maybe you're right. But how can I help being 
 grateful to him for the present. Everything smiles 
 at me and makes me happy. You think it would be 
 better to have a little unhappiness? Don't let's 
 tempt fate. Let me try to be good without having 
 
THE STRONGEST 57 
 
 suffered. I know it's harder, but if you help me 
 can't I succeed ? Papa loves me in his way and wants 
 me to triumph with his money so I can give him some 
 new strength for himself. We won't change him. 
 Why can't I take advantage of the beautiful spectacle 
 which he is preparing for my eyes? Don't I know 
 that people will covet my money much more than 
 they'll love me? It's a comedy, but it's very amus- 
 ing, and I want to have a good time first. There's 
 nothing wrong with pleasure in itself. The danger 
 is that people forget to live. I won't run that risk, 
 because I've got you. You'll always be there, fierce 
 as conscience. I'll tell you everything. We'll laugh 
 and we'll cry together. And best of all, we'll love 
 each other. You will tell me about my mother and 
 I will try to give you back something of her."^ 
 
 If Dominic could have taken his mind off his factory 
 that night he might have noticed the brilliant eyes, 
 the short, nervous speech, the gay accents, so rare 
 in his friend. He paid no attention. On his side, 
 Henri felt sure of Claudia and had some compunc- 
 tions about abusing his victory over Harle. He 
 pitied him a little. But when he returned to Nanette 
 he thought only of his triumph and cried to her: 
 
 "The child is ours. I won for Claire, by Claire. 
 I have given her back her child. I have saved what 
 remains of our beloved dead." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MADAME LA COMTESSE DE FOUR- 
 CHAMPS was received at Radegonde like 
 a queen. She carried it off very well. 
 She was well born and for twenty years she had 
 reigned by her beauty, her grace, gently sharpened 
 by an indulgent contempt for everything that was 
 outside her orbit. Paris has an unheard-of treasure 
 of fidelity for its queens of the stage or of society; 
 when a woman is proclaimed beautiful, even if she be 
 merely attractive, she will keep her reputation for 
 beauty until it is finally in ruins. The Comtesse 
 de Fourchamps had not got to that point yet, but 
 she was calling in the aid of paints and cosmetics, 
 which emphasized her features and showed up her 
 implacable will under the gaiety of her smile. After 
 having been brunette and blonde, in turn, she was 
 now red-haired and counselled old and young, as 
 Claudia could testify, in the matter of colours. Her 
 eyes were still beautiful, radiant with promise to 
 which the imperious tightening of her lips gave the 
 lie. She was tall, her features were coldly correct, 
 and there was something imposing, authoritative 
 in the way she held back her head. The woman 
 
 58 
 
THE STRONGEST 59 
 
 had "pull." One could almost say she was all 
 "pull." 
 
 Her husband, a prominent Alpine climber, met her 
 at the Grands Mulcts and was her slave before they 
 returned to Chamonix. With an income of twenty 
 thousand francs he remained a poor man and sold his 
 farms in Normandy to put everything in his wife's 
 hands. They set themselves up luxuriously in Paris, 
 and employed capital of all kinds so fruitfully that 
 their luxury increased too fast for scandal. Marie 
 de Fourchamps showed her superiority in assuring 
 her support. Rich Jews, ever in search of social 
 authority, were the first. With them came the crowd 
 of hungry journalists, avengers of every offense. 
 The Fourchamps, in fact, seemed to be of a doubtful 
 nobility. But the lofty favour of an archduke, based 
 on loans to friends hard pressed by dressmakers, 
 had made the lovely comtesse a familiar of princes. 
 Behind these solid ramparts she could defy the world; 
 and she did defy it, obliging to everybody and gen- 
 erous to those who helped her, crushing only those 
 who were already down, disarming slander with her 
 grace; and succeeded. 
 
 Fourchamps, however, went back to his life 
 of mountain climbing and followed the path of 
 Humboldt on the slopes of Chimborazo. He re- 
 mained, unhappy man, inside a volcano. He is still 
 there, in spite of the searching parties sent out by his 
 wife. 
 
60 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Her mourning was of a rare propriety. At a time 
 of life when every year counted she lived in seclusion 
 for a whole year, in the company of Baron Oppert, 
 her financial adviser. By a refinement of delicacy 
 which was highly appreciated by everyone the Baron 
 himself did not give his annual flower fete that year. 
 
 The Ball in White, to which Harle took Claudia, 
 was the Comtesse de Fourchamps's brilliant return 
 to the world. The noble widow did not even ask 
 herself whether the ball was audacious, for she had all 
 the trumps. Certain names had become irrevocably 
 attached to hers, and the aristocratic crowd was des- 
 tined to come to her. And Baron Oppert, as a con- 
 vert, brought with him the support of the Church; 
 which, with money, was enough. 
 
 Harle did not, therefore, lack authority to shield 
 him from Henri's criticism. Not that he needed the 
 support of Baron Oppert, for he had that happy dis- 
 position which made him think himself the equal 
 of any money king. Without knowing the baron's 
 past he admired his force and respected him as a 
 splendid example of humanity. But his soul was 
 exclusively for the comtesse. He was a victim to her 
 charms and not less a victim because the lovely hand 
 he kissed was opening the door of the world to him. 
 It was a door which was marked "Closed" but which 
 might open, at least halfway and without too much 
 difficulty, to a Chicago meat packer. 
 
 A great project over which Harle had brooded a 
 
THE STRONGEST 61 
 
 long time was about to be realized. But what was 
 industrial sovereignty to him without the crowning 
 glory of social success? This was the supreme re- 
 ward, and the comtesse, who possessed it, seemed to 
 walk under an aureole of grace and beauty. A union 
 with her could put at his disposal the hypothetical 
 ancestors of the Fourchamps line. He was exempt 
 from the strict propriety of a convert and could 
 show the utmost zeal in furthering the political 
 designs of the Church. He often said that the aris- 
 tocracy of wealth ought not to refuse its support to 
 the ungilded nobility. One possessed the present 
 hour; the other was the ornament of centuries of 
 history. They should walk together, in broad day- 
 light, united under the Holy Father. What did the 
 name matter if a mere change in words could assure 
 the reality of their power? First they had to push 
 back the Revolution. At last Oppert understood. 
 Harl6 was the man to hold back the mob. His 
 workers never made a false step. He made it his 
 business to combine certain interests, to bring up 
 practical propositions and shame the theorists. 
 Through him the upper classes could win back their 
 hold. Society would be balanced again and then 
 they would realize how much will power there was 
 in the man who had succeeded where others who 
 seemed greater had failed. 
 
 These dreams, Harle imagined, were his secrets, 
 but the comtesse had divined them long ago. In 
 
62 THE STRONGEST 
 
 moments of weariness and boredom she would tell 
 herself that this might be her destiny. Soon little 
 of the joys of the world would remain for her. She 
 had never enjoyed anything but the triumph of her 
 charm. Her beauty was coming to an end. There 
 remained the inexhaustible enjoyment of power. 
 
 It was child's play for her to keep the paper-maker 
 on the alerk always wavering between hope and fear. 
 She took it into her head to chaperon Claudia, 
 and Harle* deeply appreciated the favour. With the 
 child she seemed to be taking the future statesman. 
 But from the fir;st moment she felt, in Claudia and 
 even in Harle himself, the distant opposition of 
 Puymaufray. She felt that he was the lion in the 
 path who must be conquered first. Without under- 
 standing the authority against which her own power 
 was breaking she decided to put everything to the 
 touch and risk an encounter at once. 
 
 The most minute scrutiny of Puymaufray's past 
 revealed nothing, except the legend of his wild life in 
 Paris, which could give her a clue. Her investiga- 
 tion in Paris was in fact the one thing to throw her off 
 the scent, for neither despair of love nor financial ruin 
 could account for Henri's exile. The man of the world 
 never pays for a catastrophe of passion by renounc- 
 ing the world. The loss of his fortune was no better, 
 for the traffic between coats of arms and fresh mil- 
 lions was at its height. There was something else. 
 But what? 
 
THE STRONGEST 63 
 
 The countess came to find out. Her first move 
 after she arrived at Radegonde was to announce 
 that she wanted "to surprise the Puymaufray in his 
 lair." 
 
 When they came to the house Nanette informed 
 them that Henri was out in the fields, discussing the 
 sale of some trees with M. Deschars and Pierre 
 Quete, the wheelwright. They decided to go to 
 meet them. The tang of the air and the hard ground 
 made walking a pleasure. 
 
 "Who is M. Deschars?" asked the countess, as 
 she might have asked: "Is that a crow or a pigeon 
 over there?" 
 
 "Deschars!" Harle exclaimed. "Another queer 
 one. I didn't know he was here. He's a friend of 
 Claudia's. They used to play together during the 
 holidays. The Deschars are an old family in Poitou 
 who've got rich by a century or two of stinginess. 
 This one isn't quite thirty and is sowing francs along 
 every road because he likes a wandering life. He's 
 not a bad fellow. He travels all over the world and 
 is always coming back from China or Java or some- 
 where. Sometimes you see him in Paris or in his 
 park, about an hour's walk from here. I don't 
 know where he's been the last two years. Henri 
 must be glad to see him back. Those two like to 
 hear each other talk about how bad everything 
 is. Maybe Deschars's paradoxes will amuse you. 
 He sweetly proposes to turn the world upside down 
 
64 THE STRONGEST 
 
 because somewhere on his travels he saw the opposite 
 of what we have or do or are. That rather seems to 
 me to be an argument for changing the others." 
 
 "I have nothing to propose. I let other people 
 alone. You'll never make me believe that the 
 world's a bad place, no matter what you say. It's 
 enough for me and my friends to make the best of 
 whatever comes up." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Claudia, "perhaps we can 
 save " 
 
 "You're going to give us one of your uncle's 
 sermons," shouted Dominic. "But here he comes 
 himself." 
 
 Puymaufray's astonishment was extreme. 
 
 "My dear marquis," cried the countess, without 
 giving him a moment. "I bring you peace in the 
 folds of my cloak. You quarrelled with me once 
 about I don't know what; and Harle, here, pretends 
 that you still remember it. So I've come to receive 
 your apologies and to be merciful. I see repentance 
 .in your eyes. Good. You are forgiven." 
 
 "Madame, I am overwhelmed by your excessive 
 indulgence, and I shall do all I can to be worthy of it. 
 And in bidding you welcome to Puymaufray I have 
 the pleasure of presenting to you my friend Maurice 
 Deschars, who brings us the latest news from the end 
 of the world/' 
 
 "Ah, I sha'n't ask for it," said the countess, laugh- 
 ing with contemptuous kindliness. "Just at present 
 
THE STRONGEST 65 
 
 I know no Negroes. I have a few little Chinese at 
 the Mission society. That is enough. You must 
 let me be ignorant and take the marquis's word for 
 it that you're to be admired." 
 
 "I'm not to be admired at all, madame, for I've 
 done nothing admirable; never." 
 
 "What? And didn't you go for a whole month 
 without water in the desert, in a white helmet, sur- 
 rounded by blacks who betrayed you to the natives 
 who wanted to assassinate you? Didn't you follow 
 in the footsteps of Stanley?" 
 
 "No, madame. I explored nowhere and dis- 
 covered nothing. I was simply travelling about. 
 There's nothing to boast of in that." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry for you," replied the lady, whom 
 this simplicity instinctively displeased. "I met 
 Stanley when he was the thing. When I found out 
 that one of his companions had bought a little 
 Negress for a checkered handkerchief and made the 
 troup eat her, just to show, then I got a thrill." 
 
 "You'll have to excuse my friend," observed Puy- 
 maufray. "Every man does what he can." 
 
 The intruder broke up the first burst of confidence 
 which the comtesse's strategy had arranged. He 
 was a tall, dark young man of a rather timid appear- 
 ance, with sombre gray eyes in which a natural reso- 
 lution seemed to be at grips with a distant melan- 
 choly. Harle welcomed him with boisterous cordi- 
 ality and Claudia seemed sincere enough when she 
 
66 THE STRONGEST 
 
 told him she was glad to see him. The comtesse, 
 searching their faces, could see nothing more than 
 good friendship. All the same a premonition entered 
 her heart. 
 
 But she had come to see Puymaufray. She cheer- 
 fully reproached him for misunderstanding her 
 friendship and told him her troubles, then banished 
 them with a smile. No one knew better than she 
 did the precise cost of worldly frivolity and the mis- 
 take of judging by appearances. Life flings apart 
 those whom common feelings ought to bring to- 
 gether. When they meet again they find that they 
 are giving themselves to ingrates. All this she said 
 in a low voice, as if she were talking to herself, while 
 the others followed a few paces behind. 
 
 Like a good Parisian who is on guard against 
 woman when she is most charming, Henri seemed to 
 yield utterly to the attraction of her triumphant 
 smile. The clever woman of the world, for her part, 
 did not run the risk of misunderstanding this easy 
 surrender. Beneath her confident words there lurked 
 a reserve. These were only preliminaries. 
 
 But Harle, looking at his friend, joyfully thought: 
 "He's caught hand and foot." Claudia was more 
 skeptical and waited. For the moment she was 
 quarrelling with Deschars. He had answered her 
 first friendly questions and had joined her in reminis- 
 cence, but he was obstinate in his assertion that he 
 had brought nothing home for his friends. 
 
THE STRONGEST 67 
 
 "I didn't find anything worthy of you," he said. 
 "So I brought nothing but myself. And that's 
 nothing." 
 
 "It would be enough. But I know you too well, 
 and I'm sure you brought something with you. 
 Let's see. Surely you've got some little black men 
 with silver rings in their noses, a stuffed tiger, some 
 sabres, or some idols or something?" 
 
 " I have nothing. There must be a chest of clothes 
 and things somewhere, but it took the wrong boat. 
 Some day, when we're not thinking about it, it will 
 turn up. That's for Nanette." 
 
 "I knew that I'd make you speak in the end. 
 Well, I'll have to make up to Nanette. She 
 won't refuse me a bit of foulard." 
 
 There was a wood fire in the "tapestry room," 
 where Nanette was serving the tea. When she had 
 taken off her furs the Comtesse de Fourchamps 
 shone with the joy of being at home and declared 
 that she was glad to escape from the world. 
 
 "Well, at last I've found a real farmer," she said. 
 "I admit that I was surprised at first by all the 
 pecking poultry in your yard. But my dear mar- 
 quis, what you call your hut and what I've seen of 
 your park are enchanting. They're real, not just 
 scenery for an opera. It's a lovely retreat for a 
 Zouave who's become a hermit." 
 
 "I didn't choose it, madame. I found it so and 
 I'll leave it so. Claudia will keep it, out of respect 
 
68 THE STRONGEST 
 
 for my memory, safe for a little while from the axe 
 and the trowel." 
 
 "What I admire above all is that you've never 
 regretted anything of what you left behind. What 
 a powerful seduction it must have been to make you 
 leave Paris so suddenly. It's very wonderful. At 
 least so long as it wasn't some mean trick which 
 Paris played on you and which you have never 
 forgiven." 
 
 "Something of that, I think. All I knew in Rome 
 and Paris was carnival. Well, you soon see the end 
 of that. Everything they went mad over seemed 
 to me to be a disguise of something real. Here I 
 understand everything, I am satisfied with and I 
 love them. And if I dared I'd say that they love 
 me, too. I get a joy from the earth which you would 
 never understand." 
 
 "Rousseau! Mirabeau! The friend of mankind ! 
 It's marvellous! I'm afraid that I'd be a rather 
 unconvincing peasant. But just the same I think 
 you're to be envied. But it's no use; you can't cut 
 yourself off from contact with humanity." 
 
 "There are human beings here, I assure you." 
 "Who's that? Your old bearded Nanette?" 
 "Don't laugh at her. She is a noble soul. I 
 don't know a better. Then there's Pierre Quete, the 
 blacksmith, whom you saw making off in the bushes 
 when you came up. Winter nights I go down and 
 smoke my pipe at the smithy. Besides, I have a 
 
THE STRONGEST 6fr 
 
 quarrel of thirty years' standing with Dominic and 
 a love affair of twenty years' with Claudia. What 
 more do I want? From time to time Deschars 
 comes back from the antipodes. Finally, from Paris, 
 farther from us than the antipodes, you come your- 
 self, madame. You couldn't say we lacked anything.. 
 Rather that we are overwhelmed." 
 
 "What? You refuse to let me sing you a mad- 
 rigal?" 
 
 "No, I'm quite sincere. And I haven't said any- 
 thing about my books, which you never find time 
 to read in Paris, although you have to talk about 
 them. And I ought to count in the permanent 
 sights of the land, the man in the furrow, the animals, 
 the harvest, the whole life of the earth!" 
 
 "Stop. It's too beautiful. A pipe with Pierre 
 would be enough. I should have admitted that I 
 was beaten at the start. And yet, you can call me 
 a fool, but I insist that pretty soon you'll be giving 
 up these pleasures for the melancholy of Paris. 
 From this day you'll owe me a visit. You aren't 
 the man to keep me waiting." 
 
 "I shall have the pleasure of being at your ser- 
 vice, madame, whenever you command me." 
 
 "I knew it. Harle has an appointment in Paris 
 for some great business matters, he says. Claudia 
 is coming up for the concerts and theatres and some 
 dancing. If you don't come up I sha'n't be able 
 to keep her there. I'll have the regular talk which 
 
70 THE STRONGEST 
 
 always comes before she goes: about uncle, bored to 
 death, 1 all alone, among the pleasures you have just 
 described. You take away the friends I want to 
 keep beside me. So come along, and be one of 
 my friends yourself." 
 
 "Won't you let me think that I am one of them 
 already?" 
 
 "I'd rather believe that you sincerely want to 
 be." 
 
 While they were talking Harle was pressing Des- 
 chars to tell him about the manufactures of Ceylon. 
 How did they make paper there? Was it possible 
 that a traveller could come back without knowing 
 that? Might as well remain in Poitou. The com- 
 tesse kept a watchful eye on Claudia, who broke into 
 her father's discussion with impertinent questions 
 about Buddha's tooth and Adam's footprint, of 
 which she desired a casting. 
 
 Decidedly the comtesse did not like Deschars. 
 A handsome youth, no doubt, and nicely set up, 
 with his look of a young animal at rest. Why did 
 she get the feeling that he was tired of himself, 
 without interest in life? He was full of contradic- 
 tions, and the Parisian felt that he was hardening 
 himself against the conventional lies of our civiliza- 
 tion. His simplicity, his savage honesty, broke down 
 falsehood, and Claudia could not help laughing with 
 him, when she should have been sending him back 
 to the jungle, about his business. 
 
THE STRONGEST 71 
 
 Claudia felt that her godfather's courteous gaiety 
 was concealing a fever in his heart. She went to 
 him, spoke lovingly to him, and made him laugh by 
 her wild remarks. The comtesse quickly recognized 
 the deep bond between the two. Evidently she 
 was to find a stronger resistance than she had 
 expected. 
 
 After all, there was nothing surprising in this love 
 of an aging man for the child who graced his lone- 
 liness, his only joy in twenty years of solitary rural 
 life. Time and prudence would be required to break 
 up this alliance. Claudia was sufficiently attracted 
 by the pleasures of youth. Could Puymaufray 
 come back to the world? The adventure was 
 hazardous. The country had swallowed up all his 
 life. Yet there might be a reawakening! The 
 ancient flame might be born again; Puymaufray, 
 the beau of Paris, might burst into a supreme 
 flare of light before he went out forever. Dominic 
 Harle and his daughter would be freed from the 
 menace which now threatened the comtesse. And 
 then, who could tell what turn things might take? 
 The marquis, coming splendidly into the world, had 
 a value in the marriage market quite superior to 
 that of the vulgar paper-maker with his super- 
 fluous millions. The chance was worth gambling 
 for. 
 
 But the gambler felt herself nervous. She knew 
 that Puymaufray could not be caught so easily as 
 
72 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Harle. Henri was armed with a universal disgust; 
 his secret, if he had one, was not to be discovered. 
 
 "I haven't been beaten yet," she reassured herself. 
 
 Henri, too, was disquieted; but he let himself go, 
 in the joy of being close to Claudia, and forgot the 
 future. 
 
 They parted with an engagement to dine, and at 
 dinner the comtesse made it her affair to eliminate 
 Deschars. She decided that he was not dangerous. 
 
 "So it's really true, Monsieur Deschars," she said 
 at the end of her investigation. "You really go up 
 and down in the world for nothing." 
 
 "For myself, madame. I can't find a place for 
 myself in active life, like M. Harle, so I take my 
 fun in watching other people live, and I like the 
 trouble of changing my point of view from time to 
 time." 
 
 "Well, there are plenty of things to see in Paris." 
 
 "Yes, but in Paris I'd be something to be seen 
 myself. Our old Europe, which makes such a fuss 
 in the world, isn't so very large, I assure you. In 
 Asia there are races who hold all earthly happiness 
 in contempt. We took the doctrine from them and 
 preach it at every crossroads. But who ever prac- 
 tises it? Well, I am not of my world. The thing 
 that amuses me most is the variety of ways in which 
 people imagine they can deceive life. I forget to 
 live myself by watching them and that is what I 
 gain. Why should I go back to Paris?" 
 
THE STRONGEST 73 
 
 "I don't know. You are a greater traveller than 
 I thought, because you are coming from the stars. 
 Go back there, dear sir. Look down with pity on 
 those who still cling to the earth, let your joy be in 
 watching. We will take ours in living." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 FOR a whole month the Comtesse de Four- 
 champs kept Ste. Radegonde on the alert. 
 A fine steel spring in her restored every 
 fault of will and action after the utmost weariness. 
 She had to be well, had to feel her strength. Then 
 she could compel herself to do anything. 
 
 From the day Maria Billaud understood her des- 
 tiny she began to save her energies for the great 
 steeplechase of life. She kept a book of her physical 
 wealth. She took care of herself, prevented deteri- 
 oration or repaired it. She vanquished joy and sorrow 
 alike, so that her body might not be torn by great 
 emotions. She would have no wrinkles. No tears 
 no great shouts of laughter. A smile was enough. 
 Her whole life was concentrated in the pleasure of 
 reigning, with no other profit than the thought: "I 
 am on the heights." And more: "Others are below 
 
 me." 
 
 She planned the assault of Puymaufray with 
 grand deliberation. She rode and drove; she played 
 with her fan in the drawing room or became poetic 
 in the conservatory. She demanded visits from 
 Deschars: she took pains to be friends with Nanette. 
 
 74 
 
THE STRONGEST 75 
 
 It was from Nanette that she won Henri's great 
 secret. 
 
 "He loves Mam'selle Claudia too much, madame. 
 It isn't strange; she's his godchild. He saw her born. 
 He'll be very sorry when she's married and leaves 
 him all alone. Ah, if madame would only give him 
 something to think about; take him to Paris he 
 ought to be kept there a long time. Madame would 
 be very good if she would help me save m'sieur le 
 marquis from the lonely old age which is awaiting 
 him." 
 
 The noble lady had a high opinion of this ally. 
 But had she really learned the secret? Was there a 
 secret to learn? Why this burst of audacious confi- 
 dence right under Puymauf ray's eyes? The countess 
 redoubled her efforts at friendship. And Nanette, 
 expanding, talking endlessly, told her nothing. 
 
 At night when Henri returned from Radegonde and 
 sat down before the fireplace, Nanette congratulated 
 him with ironic commentaries: 
 
 " Ah, you're a lucky one, Monsieur Henri, to make 
 yourself loved like that. Because she loves you, 
 that woman from Paris does. She can't talk about 
 another thing. You can see that her heart's full of 
 it. You know love affairs like that, sometimes 
 there's an idea behind them." 
 
 "And what idea do you suggest is behind Mme. 
 la comtesse?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," answered Nanette; "perhaps 
 
76 THE STRONGEST 
 
 she has a husband picked for Mile. Claudia a man 
 you wouldn't like. But she surely hasn't come down 
 to Ste. Radegonde to see me. M. Harle seems to be 
 quite overcome with his comtesse, but her eye is all 
 for you. Maybe she wants to be a marquise. How- 
 ever, my idea is that there is something underhand 
 going on." 
 
 "Tell me what you think." 
 
 "I can't tell you because I don't know. She's 
 too good friends with our little one. She must be 
 thinking of using her somehow. M. Harle wouldn't 
 get her anywhere. So what?" 
 
 "Well, there's only one thing sure. We've got to 
 protect Claudia." 
 
 Claudia was protecting herself quite well, and with- 
 out great effort. True, she had had no great temp- 
 tations. She had had a surfeit of pleasures too soon 
 and had little curiosity left. She had been shown 
 a world where money was everything, could do every- 
 thing, accomplished everything. She had money, 
 and youth, and beauty. So she was destined to rule. 
 But over whom? over what? She did not ask. 
 The future seemed so beautiful that she made 
 it a point of pride not to stretch out her hand to 
 capture it. She liked to think that the world was 
 coming to her, and she rejoiced in the pleasure of 
 waiting. 
 
 How should she have any presentiment of sorrow? 
 Undoubtedly other people suffered, and she was 
 
THE STRONGEST 77 
 
 sincerely upset by that. But what were the misfor- 
 tunes which seem to come to others, in another world, 
 without possible effect on her? At most an oppor- 
 tunity to show her superior generosity, to prove to 
 herself, delightfully, that she was piteous and chari- 
 table toward the miserable, whom God, had inten- 
 tionally put under her feet. 
 
 Money cost her nothing and she gave money. She 
 also gave compassionate words which rose to her lips 
 since her heart was uncorrupted with pharisaism. 
 Privations endured for the sake of others the joys 
 of sacrifice had no meaning for her. They were 
 texts for sermons, no doubt, but how could they 
 apply to her who had no need of denying herself any- 
 thing in order to win the blessing of the Church and 
 to yield to the will of the Lord of the World. The 
 rich are told to give; the poor, to be resigned. The 
 former give meanly ; the latter are not resigned. The 
 rich often give to prevent the want of resignation in 
 the poor from being fatal: their giving is not the 
 act of sacrifice demanded by the Man of Galilee. 
 Greed that has been satisfied is on the defensive 
 against the greed that demands to be satisfied, and 
 the war of the classes is let loose. 
 
 Claudia could not see so far ahead. She thought 
 sincerely that she was good because she gave and 
 because she felt herself wounded by the more striking 
 appearances of evil. Henri's efforts to lift her charity 
 to the plane of real compassion seemed to her to be 
 
78 THE STRONGEST 
 
 vain subtleties, compared with the facilities for 
 charitableness which her father's wealth gave her. 
 
 By nature she resisted the suggestions of class, but 
 she was not strong enough to rebel, by herself, against 
 the hierarchy of the strongest, who gave out the 
 lovely things in the world. She was tempted. Her 
 education had predisposed her to accept. She felt 
 herself weak, and it was only when Puymaufray had 
 invoked her mother's name that a great hope came 
 to her. She had rushed to his arms as to asylum. 
 Without thinking, without hesitation or regret, she 
 put herself in his hands for protection against her 
 own weakness. 
 
 She did not love her "father" less, she thought; 
 she was certainly grateful for the prodigious efforts 
 he made for her pleasure. But she was put on her 
 guard against him by her "godfather," and the very 
 words which used to reassure her now seemed un- 
 conscious blasphemy. 
 
 The comtesse was more expert, could always man- 
 age her tongue, and so kept her hold on Claudia's 
 affections. How could Claudia help loving her at 
 night, when Puymaufray had gone, and the comtesse 
 launched into delicate praise of him, ending with the 
 express advice to obey him in everything. This 
 friendly advice was received with such a burst of 
 confidence that the comtesse lost all hope for a mo- 
 ment. She had discovered the full force of love which 
 was opposed to her plans. But she had on her side 
 
THE STRONGEST 79 
 
 youth, beauty, and wealth; enough to plunge the 
 sword of death into the union of these two hearts. 
 
 Puymaufray was very happy, and off his guard. 
 The coming trip to Paris worried him because the 
 comtesse was to be there. 
 
 "But, Uncle dear," said Claudia, "if Mme. la 
 Comtesse is as wicked as you say, how is it that the 
 people who know her make her so welcome?" 
 
 "She is wicked only as the world is wicked. Why 
 should the world reject her, Claudine?" 
 
 "Oh, but the world can't be altogether corrupt. 
 There are good people. Look how all the best people 
 came to the Bal Blanc that made you so angry. What 
 did they come for? I don't suppose it was for the 
 glory of the Fourchamps name, was it? Nor money, 
 because the girls that went there all have millions of 
 dowry." 
 
 "Money needs money. Money attracts money. 
 Just ask your papa if he'd let you marry a poor man 
 unless he had some great name." 
 
 "So it is money." 
 
 "It's everything. What you call 'the world' is 
 simply a union of the strongest. Your papa puts 
 that very well. And when you're done with brute 
 force, money is the power which includes everything. 
 The old nobility pretended that they put a crown of 
 chivalry on wealth and strength. If you don't look 
 at it too closely it seems a beautiful dream. What's 
 left of it to-day? Richelieu dynamited the chateaux 
 
80 THE STRONGEST 
 
 of the nobility; Louis XIV ruined his court; Louis XV 
 corrupted his. The Revolutionists guillotined the 
 nobility, and, what was worse, put it into their heads 
 to call in aliens against France. From that time the 
 nobility is nothing but a memory. It's a memory 
 which some people exploit out of vainglory. Others 
 traffic in it at the auction sale to which we have 
 reduced marriage. That's why I, who tell you this, 
 am a Pannetier as well as a Puymaufray. That's 
 why your papa dreamed of making you the Comtesse 
 de Hauteroche. The past is breaking up and new 
 groups are forming; but they are groups of the strong- 
 est as always. To-day the strongest are the rich- 
 est, first of all; that's the brutal fact." 
 
 "Oh, come! Money isn't everything, Uncle." 
 
 "Certainly not; it isn't everything. Only it's too 
 much. Money isn't everything; but the whole 
 human race is its votary. There is no counter- 
 balance. It isn't everything; but all the other social 
 powers crowd around wealth; even those that pre- 
 tend to protect mankind are swept up. They say 
 it has displaced brute force; but it only expresses 
 brute force in other words. Someone has said that 
 in the old days there was God against the world's 
 oppressions. But I have always found that God is 
 on the side of the strongest. Jesus himself tenderly 
 reproached Him from the cross." 
 
 "Then the world is rotten?" 
 
 "No, my dear. The trouble is that the good are 
 
THE STRONGEST 81 
 
 isolated. They have exquisite feelings but not the 
 energy to get together, to act. The others get to- 
 gether by self-interest, by cowardice, by their hurry 
 to profit from every hour. And so generous senti- 
 ments find their place in the social system only if they 
 make concessions which really destroy their value. 
 They are compelled to admit that the strongest are 
 always right. And yet ordinary hypocrisy is a con- 
 fession of shame in the hour of triumph. That is 
 what makes me optimistic about the future. I 
 suppose this is all Greek to you. Mme. la Comtesse 
 and the mothers that bring their little children to her 
 parties haven't the time to think about these things, 
 nor the ability. They go to the strongest by in- 
 stinct, and their actions justify themselves. You 
 have to swim with the current. If you go against 
 it you are assured of defeat on earth, with a doubtful 
 triumph beyond the grave as consolation." 
 
 "You are hopeless, Uncle. Then what can I do? 
 Go into a convent? Or live another twenty years 
 in the hope of death?" 
 
 "That's true. I am an old man talking to your 
 youth. And I have less right since life has given me 
 its loveliest. I am paying; it's your turn to live. And 
 it's only because I want you to live fully and nobly 
 that I am trying to save you from the universal lie." 
 
 "Yes, I understand. But you yourself said that 
 we've got to respect some conventional things. I 
 think there must be good and bad in everything. 
 
82 THE STRONGEST 
 
 The world isn't perfect and Mme. la Comtesse isn't a 
 heroine. But how can I judge humanity? You're 
 very hard on people who come near me because you 
 love me so much. Be more indulgent, Daddy. Since 
 you are with me I have nothing to fear." 
 
 "I sha'n't be with you always. You will need 
 your mother." 
 
 Then they talked long of Death, and Henri opened 
 his heart to her. 
 
 The Comtesse de Fourchamps persisted in her 
 tactics and never interrupted these long conversa- 
 tions. Puymaufray was grateful to her for that. 
 Harle was also pleased for he had time to explain to 
 her all his plans for becoming one of the merchant 
 kings of France. He had taken it into his head to 
 have her visit the factory. 
 
 "What for?" she asked, with cheerful indifference. 
 "To see men with black faces stuck to horribly 
 noisy machines, or pasty-faced men stirring some 
 horrible concoction in your vats. Don't I see them 
 coming out of their lair every night? That's 
 enough. Napoleon didn't take people to visit his 
 battlefields." 
 
 "Right. And what Napoleon didn't dare to do, 
 I dare. That's progress. He killed eighty thou- 
 sand men in one night at Moscow, and what for? 
 Nothing to boast of in that! I give people life. 
 That's worth seeing. And I give double profit to 
 society, because I let people earn a living and I pro- 
 
THE STRONGEST 83 
 
 duce something that spreads civilization every- 
 where." 
 
 "I'll take your word for it." 
 
 "That isn't enough, madame. I want to con- 
 vince your eyes." 
 
 "Oh, persuade those who need persuasion. I do 
 not." 
 
 "But everyone ought to know! If you don't 
 want to see the paper coming off the rollers and fold- 
 ing up into neat little sheets for you to write on, at 
 least come down and see my cooperative stores, my 
 workers' cities, and my charitable institutions." 
 
 "I know you are good. That's all I need to know. 
 My function is art, not industry. We women are 
 decorative, my friend or nothing. Your dividends 
 are your affair. Let us be the ornaments of your 
 life, and nothing else." 
 
 But finally he persuaded her and the party was 
 made up. Everything in the factory had been swept 
 up and polished and cleaned, but the comtesse could 
 hardly suppress a movement of disgust. The woman 
 of the world is popularly supposed to be at home 
 wherever fate may land her. But the factory and 
 the furrow are exceptions. The exquisite, artificial 
 flower, on its wire stem with silken petals and velvet 
 leaves, is dazzling, but it must be kept away from 
 contact with nature. The comtesse was more of a 
 spectacle to the factory than the factory could be 
 to her. She passed with lowered lids under the 
 
84 THE STRONGEST 
 
 ironic silence of the distant creatures at whom she 
 would not even look. She went along, with little 
 movements, among incomprehensible things of iron 
 or of flesh and blood, vaguely consoled with the 
 thought that such things had to be in order that she 
 might shine in her glory. What, to her, were these 
 men begrimed with coal or with paste? these fellows 
 disgustingly stained at the strainer or foul with 
 motor oil; these women, so prematurely aged; the 
 girls, the children, stupefied with the mechanical 
 grind, twisted into an eternal repetition of the same 
 gesture by which they made their living. No, they 
 were nothing to her. They were at opposite poles. 
 
 Claudia was not embarrassed, for she was in daily 
 contact with these people, who smiled and winked 
 at her, slily. They were friends. Dominic was the 
 captain at the helm. His presence was the signal 
 for an almost military attention. He was neither 
 loved nor hated; they obeyed him. He asked noth- 
 ing more. Outside the factory he was capable of 
 being generous; within, he affected to be pitilessly 
 just. There was no room for temperaments in his 
 chart of work. Punishment followed swiftly on the 
 fault. He allowed appeals and made reparation if 
 he thought that justice had been violated. But 
 even when he was merciful he was so harsh that no 
 gratitude ever came to him. 
 
 Li spite of everything the workers felt that Harle 
 was one of them, a friend of their work, who was put- 
 
THE STRONGEST 85 
 
 ting his effort into it with them. "He's part of the 
 factory," they would say. And in truth it wasn't 
 altogether flattery. 
 
 Harle tried to show the party everything, but all 
 that the comtesse could remember was that a tree be- 
 came paper. It hardly mattered to her by what proc- 
 ess the thing was accomplished. 
 
 A building which gave off acrid gases stood out of 
 the line of their itinerary. "What's that?" asked 
 Deschars. " What do you do there? " 
 
 "That's where we bleach the rags," said Harle. 
 "It's chlorine bleaching; the smell is awful and the 
 gas would make you cough." 
 
 As he spoke the door opened violently and a man, 
 shaken with a terrible cough, leaped from the spirals 
 of yellowish smoke. They saw him lean against the 
 wall, convulsed, his arms flung over his face. And as 
 he stood erect again, after the fit had passed, a 
 splash of bright red on the white plaster wall showed 
 the habitual blood-spitting of workers in chlorine. 
 It was so sudden and so tragic that all cried out at 
 once. 
 
 "How abominable!" moaned Claudia. "Isn't it 
 terrible to kill people that way? There are always 
 people ready to die so that their families can live." 
 
 The superintendent who was accompanying the 
 visitors had already come to the aid of the sufferer, 
 who was led away, marking his steps with red 
 blots. 
 
86 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "They'll take him to the infirmary and give him 
 some milk," said Harle. "I never let my men stay 
 more than four consecutive hours in the gas chamber. 
 By giving them plenty of milk and I see that they 
 have it I have had some who lasted quite a while, 
 even years." 
 
 "Can't you get along without chlorine?" asked 
 Deschars. 
 
 "No. I tried electric bleaching but it didn't sat- 
 isfy me. For high-quality rags a bath in liquid 
 chlorine is enough, and that's almost inoffensive. 
 But rough rags for print paper have to have gas. 
 It's a nuisance, but you can't get around it." 
 
 "So we must resign ourselves to it," said the 
 comtesse, sadly. 
 
 "Our resignation is easier to explain than theirs," 
 said Puymaufray. 
 
 "They have to resign themselves to the inevit- 
 able," cried Dominic. "And at that, they get good 
 pay. From four to five francs per day." 
 
 "Five francs so as not to die of hunger; so that 
 they can die of chlorine gas," Puymaufray insisted. 
 "How long does it take you to spend all they make 
 in their little lifetime of labour for you?" 
 
 "That's up to me. I get out of my factory 
 which represents my work and the work of others 
 as much as I can. I am the chief. The chief doesn't 
 expose himself to the risks of the common soldier. 
 He has other troubles; and other pleasures, if you 
 
THE STRONGEST 87 
 
 wish. Do you imagine I run no risks in the battle? 
 I get killed another way, that's all." 
 
 "But it's the way that counts," said Claudia, 
 sadly. "I know that we're all killing ourselves 
 every day; that's life. But some ways of killing 
 yourself are acceptable and some are so cruel. Per- 
 haps it isn't necessary to inhale chlorine." 
 
 "Yes, it is. Just as you have to go into the can- 
 non's mouth when the day comes." 
 
 "But, Papa, even the soldier has a chance of safety. 
 But here, there's no future except death; it's inevit- 
 able." 
 
 "Well, and what about the infirmary and the 
 hospital, and the aid society? You had better come 
 and see what I am doing for my people." 
 
 And, in a hurricane of words, he dragged the 
 party suddenly become silent to the annexes, 
 where a wisely organized philanthropy was displayed. 
 Everything was beautifully arranged from the 
 creche to the morgue. Humanity could go no 
 further. All the arrangements seemed excellent. 
 And yet, in spite of Harle fanfares, the visitors 
 seemed to be weighed down with vague, disquieting 
 thoughts. 
 
 "We're all silent except you, my dear host, but 
 you express things very well," said the comtesse, 
 after a pause. "You are a benefactor of mankind. 
 I hardly needed to get stained and dirty to find that 
 out." 
 
88 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "You have to admit that I keep all these people 
 alive." 
 
 "That's the law of life. The poor are happy be- 
 cause there are the rich to give them bread." 
 
 "Well, if I may say so," remarked Puymaufray, 
 with a smile, "it seems to me that they would get 
 along without our kindness a lot easier than we could 
 do without their work. I admit, Dominic, that if it 
 weren't for you, Frangois Bty, whom we just saw 
 spitting blood out there, would have to find some- 
 thing else to do. But there's always the land, open 
 to everyone. And I am willing to admit that my 
 farmers could spare my generosity while I should be 
 seriously embarrassed without their rent." 
 
 "Mutual aid, I know," answered Harle, crossly. 
 "And besides, if you don't work, I do, and I don't 
 spare myself, either." 
 
 "Perhaps you expect more for your trouble than 
 your employes do." 
 
 "That's because I am running the factory, I told 
 you." 
 
 "There is more than one way of running " 
 
 "Mine is to demand passive obedience." 
 
 *' That's the simplest, to be sure. The trouble is 
 that the people nowadays are beginning to figure out 
 what their own interest is and then they say: 'We 
 come in on this'." 
 
 "Yes, that's the trouble. You're telling the truth 
 with your little joke. I know better than they do 
 
THE STRONGEST 89 
 
 what's good for them, and above all I know what's 
 possible." 
 
 "They won't always believe that." 
 
 "That doesn't prove that I'm wrong. I listen to 
 them patiently. Sometimes I explain to the most 
 intelligent of them what I am doing, and show them 
 how my work is more than the fourteen hours they're 
 whining about. I show them my risks and their 
 lack of responsibility. I tell you I embarrass them 
 considerably." 
 
 "You won't always embarrass them." 
 
 "We'll see. I laugh when they come to me with 
 their unions. I tell them: 'My children, it isn't at 
 all what you think it is. Get yourselves together in 
 one union against us and we'll make a union against 
 you. Then we'll see who's the stronger.' Then their 
 heads go down." 
 
 "Some day they'll lift them up again." 
 
 "Then society must use the power it has to protect 
 itself." 
 
 "Oh, Papa, you're not going to have soldiers with 
 loaded rifles against these good fellows?" 
 
 "I'd be as sorry as you if I had to. But you will 
 soon find out that force is the last resource in this 
 world. The good fellows, as you call them, will only 
 have to submit. As for the others, you have to 
 make them understand one way or another." 
 
 "If you didn't," said the comtesse, "it would be 
 the end of everything. You can't ask us to sur- 
 
90 THE STRONGEST 
 
 render to the barbarians. We've got to defend our- 
 selves." 
 
 fe l'm not sure what I am asking," said Claudia, 
 "but I don't want people shot for me." 
 
 "Even your godfather, who is a philanthropist, 
 will tell you that you can only live at the expense of 
 others," said Harle. "He just said that that's how 
 he lives. It's a question of degree. I have won 
 happiness for you; inevitably the price included some 
 misfortunes. But when you know what I have given 
 you, you will have a proper attitude toward the un- 
 happiness which you know only through the ex- 
 periences of others thanks to me." 
 
 "You understand, Claudia," said Henri, softly. 
 "That's exactly what you must never do.' 
 
 The evening was not gay, for the factory obsessed 
 them. Harle felt that the comtesse was on his side, 
 and tried to preach at Claudia under the pretense of 
 arguing with Puymaufray or Deschars. He had set 
 himself methodically to killing all sensitiveness in her. 
 According to his ideas of the future the girl must be a 
 glorious daughter of the strongest. That was why 
 he had opened all the windows that gave on the life 
 of the world so that she would have ambitions to 
 satisfy. Once her desires were aroused he would 
 know what to do. He held in his hand the lever of 
 future greatness. Could he stop in the arduous 
 ascent for the feeble scruples of whining philan- 
 thropists? He hardly thought so, and was busy warn- 
 
THE STRONGEST 91 
 
 ing Claudia against the "feeble spirit" of her god- 
 father who, he said, was consoling himself for his 
 wasted life by discouraging others from action. 
 
 So Harle developed his theme of the struggle for 
 existence showing that you had to conquer or be 
 conquered, and confessing that he was irresistibly 
 inclined toward the former. Deschars had become 
 astute and seemed to be afraid of approving or con- 
 tradicting. Puymaufray alone went valiantly to 
 the assault; insisted that we must propose peace, not 
 war; and that even in the thick of the battle the 
 belligerents must conduct themselves in accordance 
 with the dictates of humanity. Maliciously he some- 
 times turned to the comtesse for aid, and enjoyed 
 her embarrassment at being solicited by both sides. 
 Claudia, the judge of the contest, listened and 
 spoke her doubts. 
 
 "I'm like Uncle," she said, "I wish it were possible 
 to moderate this struggle between conflicting inter- 
 ests. I think Uncle is right when he said that all the 
 power is in our hands." 
 
 "What you mean is that you want your enemy 
 to be stronger so that he can hit back harder." 
 
 "No, if I wish that the enemy were stronger, it is 
 because I wish that we weren't tempted to abuse our 
 strength." 
 
 "Doyou'think,then/that I am abusing my power? 
 Do you think that that whole organization of charity 
 which I just showed you is a malicious tyranny?" 
 
92 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "I know that it is a good thing. Only, Papa dear, 
 you're the only one who has the right to say how 
 much each one shall get, and you know that you put 
 conditions on your charity. Perhaps your men would 
 like to have a word to say about that." 
 
 "Oh, ho! so you want them to get more of my 
 share? Isn't it enough for the Government to think 
 always of ruining me with its taxes and regulations 
 of industry and all sorts of vexations which are 
 passed every day by people whose least trouble is 
 that they don't know anything about their business? 
 Where is it going to stop? They are going to kill 
 all initiative. They are going to kill liberty and 
 destroy the possibility and the desire to get rich. 
 Everybody will be ruined. Then there will be noth- 
 ing but poor people. That's progress for you!" 
 
 "You'll see that we shall escape that catastrophe,'* 
 said Puymaufray, "but I admit that we can't assure 
 the liberty of the workers without cutting into yours, 
 because your liberty means using them for your pur- 
 pose. 5 ' 
 
 "My liberty asks nothing but what it can take. 
 My workers are free to save, to organize cooperative 
 societies, to establish banks, and join unions against 
 
 me." 
 
 "Well, don't you always tell them that if they form 
 unions against you, you will form a stronger union 
 against them?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. However, they'll have the chance 
 
THE STRONGEST 93 
 
 of a fight. Can you deny that for the last fifty years 
 we have been helping them and making their situa- 
 tion better?" 
 
 "Absolutely right. But all of those things'which 
 may be some good later on are now in the hands of 
 the masters, and give him only another hold over 
 their lives. And the struggle for life puts them all 
 in your power.' 5 
 
 "That's because they are all ignorant, undisci- 
 plined, incapable of getting along themselves. They 
 don't even know how to use the tools that we gener- 
 ously hand over to them. Do you know why they 
 are so weak? "Ah, now we're getting virtue mixed 
 up in this. What do you think if it, comtesse, with 
 your knowledge of the world?" 
 
 "I think, my dear marquis, that the vices of the 
 people are very disgusting." 
 
 "Very well, that's the last word in modern philos- 
 ophy. There is nothing else to say. The vices of 
 the crowd are our vices, but without our elegance. 
 We are distinguished by the manner of our dissipa- 
 tion or drunkenness. We are indulgent or severe 
 according to who it is. It's a fine thing for us to 
 have every pleasure that is allowed or condemned, 
 and then to heap scorn on those that don't know 
 how to clothe their vices decently!" 
 
 "There is something else," hazarded the comtesse; 
 " these people are gross ; you can't deny that. They're 
 strangers to our refinements of joy and pain, and they 
 
94 THE STRONGEST 
 
 don't feel happiness or unhappiness as we do. They're 
 of a different world/' 
 
 "Do you think so? My ancestors, if I've got the 
 story correctly, might be excused for thinking that 
 there were two kinds of people on earth. But, 
 sinpe L the Revolution, that seems rather difficult to 
 prove. The Third Estate believed in good faith that 
 they wanted universal justice on earth. But they 
 very soon saw that ours was a good place to take and 
 that seemed enough. And the only revenge we 
 could see was to make ourselves bourgeois like our 
 conquerors, to get back some of the things they stole 
 from us; not to mention doing a little robbing on our 
 own account. And now, look at the people, full of 
 the sentiments of the old bourgeoisie, who want noth- 
 ing more than to become bourgeois themselves. 
 Well, all that seems to me to be pretty much one 
 world. The same necessity for having and holding; 
 and the only difference is in the means. The con- 
 trast seems to shock pretty ladies. I know that ele- 
 ments are fused every day. But Dominic taught 
 me that under the changing names, through the revo- 
 lution, one thing remains, the invincible union of 
 the strongest, who, no matter where they come from, 
 recognize one another as 'being 'the world ' and find 
 that that justifies them in setting themselves up 
 above the others who are nothing." 
 
 "There ought to be a place for everyone," said 
 Claudia, "but how? In my visits to the poor I find 
 
THE STRONGEST 95 
 
 some that are resigned, like beasts of burden. Others 
 flatter me and think they will please my by crawling 
 at my feet. And there are some with bad eyes who 
 reproach me mutely with vague threats, and I some- 
 times think that, if I were in their place, I would be a 
 rebel. When I hear them cry 'our miseries are too 
 much for us, miss,' I know that what they mean is 
 'give us a little more place in the sun.' I look for an 
 answer but I never find one. So I give money. Uncle 
 is right; it isn't worth anything, because we have to 
 begin all over again the next day, and I myself am 
 not enough. So I'm discontented with myself and 
 with others. And then I forget. My life is so easy, 
 so beautiful. If I were to give up my pleasures, it 
 wouldn't change anything, so I live like the dog that 
 is bringing his master dinner, I snap up my bite of 
 happiness. Am I wrong, Uncle?" 
 
 "It is not your duty to bring the reign of eternal 
 justice on earth, my dear. Only keep alive this feel- 
 ing of the wrong done by Fate, and your life will be 
 illumined and warmed with acts of kindness. You 
 will discover reality and you will learn the joy of 
 giving a little of yourself to those who have fallen. 
 
 "Good will prevail," said Deschars, "only 
 forms of evil are so numerous and widespread that I 
 each man by himself thinks he is powerless, and de- J 
 spairs." 
 
 "Well, then," said Harle, bringing the discussion 
 to an end, "we've all got to live on the principle of 
 
96 THE STRONGEST 
 
 'Do what you can,' my dear Henri. That's what I 
 am doing. I develop myself according to my abili- 
 ties. If I need a greater field of activity than others, 
 it is because I have a greater power to grow. I say 
 it without false modesty." 
 
 "And what will you do with this power?" 
 "I'll find glory for myself, happiness for Claudia, 
 and even, if you wish, solace for those who owe it 
 to me that they're making a living by their work and 
 
 mine." 
 
 " Fulfill your destiny, then, my dear Dominic. May 
 your glory and Claudia's happiness and the benefits 
 that you are spreading be as great as I wish them to 
 be." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 PARIS was calling the Comtesse de Four- 
 champs. She knew little more than on the 
 day she had come, but at least the battle was 
 engaged and she had increased her advantages. Her 
 authority over Claudia held firm against Henri's 
 efforts. That was the great lever to move every- 
 thing afterward. She knew that Harle was at her 
 mercy. Henri, sure of Claudia, was less watchful, 
 and was even disarmed by the little courtesies which 
 he knew were insincere, but which still had their 
 effect. 
 
 Like all conquerors, the comtesse undoubtedly 
 exaggerated her power. Although she had not yet 
 pierced Puymaufray's armour, she considered herself 
 victorious, and only wondered how far she would care 
 to push her game. Instinctively she made a deduc- 
 tion on Deschars's account. She wanted him in 
 Paris so as to expose his possible pretensions to 
 Claudia's hand and compel him to risk battle in the 
 open and at his disadvantage. 
 
 "My dear sir," she said to him, "you can't im- 
 agine how grateful I am to you for not having any 
 stories to tell. The traveller that has seen nothing 
 
 97 
 
98 THE STRONGEST 
 
 is a rare bird. Only I can't admit that you can put 
 Paris and Benares on the same level. A trip around 
 the Place de 1'Etoile is just as strange, perhaps, and 
 although I have no right to make comparisons, I dare 
 say it is more amusing. Don't ^ou want to come and 
 try it?" 
 
 "Madame, all that I remember of my travels is 
 that gestures change according to the latitude, but 
 express the same human appetites, excited by self- 
 ishness or restrained by generosity. I have made a 
 rather wide circle around the Place de 1'Etoile and 
 I have seen many spectacles under many skies, but 
 I've always been chiefly astonished by the variety 
 of the settings. So I cheerfully admit that the 
 Champs-Elysees are as dangerous as the jungle. 
 There are Hindus who take pleasure in seeing a man 
 go out against a tiger. You will have none of these 
 cruelties." 
 
 "I believe that you are capable of going out your- 
 self, but I'd rather see you at grips with our own 
 monsters." 
 
 "The pleasure of the Romans, in turning down 
 their thumbs?" 
 
 "We are Christians, sir." 
 
 "True, we have changed the signs." 
 
 "And our feelings, too, if you please." 
 
 "Then I'll have the pleasure of finding that out, 
 madame, and I anticipate it with joy." 
 
 In fact, Deschars's eagerness to follow Puymau- 
 
THE STRONGEST 99 
 
 fray made the lady think that her invitation was su- 
 perfluous. Her vague suppositions about Claudia 
 were confirmed. Most searching observation had 
 shown her nothing; the young people seemed to be 
 in each other's confidence, but nothing else. The 
 trial of Paris was to prove. 
 
 Nanette came sadly to wish the comtesse bon 
 voyage. "I'm angry at you, madame, for taking 
 Monsieur Henri, but it is for his good. When you 
 get him, keep him a long time. Loneliness makes 
 him sad. If you could only make him recover his 
 taste for Paris, he would be as young and gay as he 
 used to be." 
 
 'Til do my best, Nanette." 
 
 And so the countess left Radegonde. 
 
 Two days later Baron Oppert came back from his 
 hunting in Galicia. As soon as he was back, Harle 
 went up to Paris. He was possessed by the thought 
 of a prodigious industrial development. A simple 
 idea, but very grand. A stroke of genius, the success 
 of which, together with the indefinite growth of his 
 factory, would give him such power in society that 
 he could hardly think of it without getting dizzy. 
 The paper-maker had opened his mind to the baron, 
 who frankly showed his wonder at such a noble 
 conception. Samuel Oppert, whose affection (pa- 
 ternal henceforth) for the countess led him into 
 making confidences, had told her of Harle's plans, 
 
100 THE STRONGEST 
 
 and had thereby deeply affected her strategy at Ste. 
 Radegonde. When a man like the baron declared 
 that Harle was his equal, who could resist the tempta- 
 tion to take a part in the game? 
 
 While he was away hunting, the financier thought 
 over the matter, and decided to put all his energy into 
 iti Harle, after having carefully considered all the 
 chances in the combination, felt his enthusiasm 
 growing with the aid of the great Oppert, and was 
 eager to act. When he told Puymaufray that his 
 great enterprise was taking shape, and that its in- 
 evitable success would put him far above the vul- 
 gar ranks of the money kings, Henri could not help 
 trembling for Claudia. How could he snatch her 
 away from all this royalty? Henri needed only 
 memories of his own youth to realize the risks his 
 beloved child would run. He tried to make her 
 understand, repeating what he had already said, re- 
 newing his warnings, which were useless because 
 they were only theories. What influence could these 
 bitter, disillusioned lectures have on a child who was 
 eager for the satisfactions of life? 
 
 "Uncle," she said, to make an end, "I love you. 
 What more do you need? Since you love me, be- 
 lieve in me, as I believe in you." 
 
 He found nothing to say. 
 
 After Radegonde was empty, Henri waited fifteen 
 long days in the charm of his old house, haunted by 
 
THE STR6N6EST; .J] 101 
 
 Claire's spirit. He was afraid trf Paris, but Ke could 
 give himself no account of his fears. He was com- 
 forted by the thought that Maurice Deschars would 
 be with him. Not that he could expect advice or 
 aid from this companion, since it was impossible to 
 open his heart, but the force of love is such that 
 even a useless friendship, by its mere presence, ex- 
 cites all one's energies as by an electric current. 
 
 The two men went riding through the woods and, 
 brought close by obscure emotions, searched_each 
 other out, and attempted uncertain approaches to 
 those things that were hidden in the depths. For 
 each had his secret. Puymaufray's was buried for- 
 ever in impenetrable mystery. The other one's was 
 pressing toward the light of day. 
 
 Deschars was timid, but one day, on a walk 
 through the sand pits, he mustered up courage to 
 speak. 
 
 "My dear marquis," he began, "I want to tell you 
 something in confidence, and ask your sincere advice. 
 You have known me since childhood; you've seen 
 me grow up among these farmers, and you've fre- 
 quently given me the benefit of your experience. 
 I've just come back from a long absence, but I can 
 say candidly that I am still the man you knew, and 
 I venture to say loved. I've travelled in many 
 countries, and if I haven't learned much, at least I 
 know how people on earth live and that has given 
 me a fair sense of proportion. My ambition is to 
 
102 . t : , ... $$' STRONGEST 
 
 live usefully, if *I c&hVVhctT believe that that is not 
 so hard as people think. For there is evil every- 
 where, and though there are plenty of efforts to do 
 good, they are always discordant." 
 
 "That is a calamity." 
 
 "Yes, but I've a whole life in front of me. I'm 
 rich. For a country squire, I am very rich. My 
 fortune was amassed by excellent people who never 
 found tune to live when they were on earth, and now 
 I want to put their money to use which may justify 
 then* miserliness. I said that the efforts to do good 
 were disorganized. Can't I coordinate them? That 
 would be enough to satisfy my ambition. Haven't 
 you told me a hundred times that the noblest dream 
 was to build a house on the cornerstone of love? 
 Why cannot I live this dream? Why shouldn't I 
 try it after so many others? Many have failed, I 
 know, but without false modesty, and only judg- 
 ing by my intentions I dare to say that I am worthy 
 to succeed." 
 
 "Bravo, my dear Maurice, I can't tell you how 
 glad I am to hear you talk that way. You give me 
 back my youth." 
 
 "And what will you say if I tell you that I love 
 your Claudia, and that I want to give her my name 
 and my life?" 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I. Your astonishment is the answer, isn't 
 it?" 
 
THE STRONGEST 103 
 
 "No, I am surprised, that's all. You've been 
 away for two years. It's true, you knew Claudia 
 from childhood, but I never saw anything which 
 would prepare me for this. And here you drop 
 down from the Himalayas to tell me that you love 
 her. You've only been here six weeks. I don't 
 think I've been asleep, but I haven't seen any- 
 thing." 
 
 "I expected you to say that. Shall I say that I 
 was in love when I went away? I don't know. I 
 was already drawn to her irresistibly. Neither you 
 nor she suspected anything. With all my adven- 
 turous airs, I am not daring where women are con- 
 cerned. The mystery of this new feeling made me 
 more timid still, and then I wanted to conquer my- 
 self. Harle with his millions, his ideas of greatness 
 stood up before me, the barrier that could not be 
 passed, and I'm afraid this obstacle has only grown 
 greater with time. She herself knew nothing. To 
 tell the truth, her ways of feeling and speaking often 
 shocked and wounded me. I had already travelled. 
 This time I decided to be absent a long time. I 
 have come back. Not from dragging my tragedy 
 all over the world; no. But I am bringing back the 
 torment of a man who has left the better part of 
 himself in the changing eyes of a woman far away, 
 I see her again. I find she is more beautiful, more 
 noble, with a new heart and soul. And I know that 
 it is due to you, who love her. I love her." 
 
104 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "And you could pretend to be indifferent, to fool 
 me, and keep Claudia herself in ignorance?" 
 
 "I had to throw Mme. la Comtesse de Fourchamps 
 off the track. If that woman knew my secret, I 
 should be lost." 
 
 "Yes, you have done well, but you and Claudia 
 are both too dear to me. I must clear the road for 
 you. Harle is nothing but a piece of ambitious ma- 
 chinery, blindly dashing forward, crushing every- 
 thing in his way. You, my poor friend, are not 
 even in his way. To him you are nothing. What 
 would he care for your honesty and candour and 
 goodness? Your plan of life would make him 
 laugh. What have you brought back from your 
 travels to help him up the social ladder? Nothing. 
 You are a passer-by, useless, a dreamer. All he'll 
 ask of you is to get out of his way. I don't say that 
 he can make his daughter take the man whom he 
 chooses. But he is certainly strong enough to 
 prevent her from accepting any one. Of course, I 
 make an exception for a great passion." 
 
 "And she?" 
 
 "We must win her. Even I, who know her and 
 love her, am hard pressed to tell you how. She is 
 good, but she is sometimes weak and gives in to 
 suggestions of the terrible people around her. She 
 resists courageously ; then she yields. Circumstances 
 are very powerful against the will of the young. 
 Claudia frequently wants to do the right thing and 
 
THE STRONGEST 105 
 
 can't, or lets herself be turned away by the temp- 
 tations of her frivolous life. She doesn't understand 
 the harm her father's millions are doing her and her 
 father himself, although he loves her in his fashion. 
 It's not surprising. She isn't old enough for the 
 profound love that comes from common suffering. 
 Worldly pleasures attract this lovely child, and with- 
 draw her far from the natural emotions of her heart. 
 The world will be your enemy, my dear Maurice, 
 as it has been mine. For you have guessed the truth. 
 It is I who have changed her from what she was. 
 All I needed to do was to bring her back to herself. 
 Selfishness could not grow in that generous soul. 
 Unfortunately, they satiated her with everything 
 before she could understand anything. All she is 
 curious about now is the splendour and movement 
 of power. I saved Claudia simply by loving her. 
 Now we must protect her. Do not fool yourself. 
 She is surrounded by greed. The appetite for great 
 dowries has killed in our young people all ambition 
 to act. A good marriage is for them the fall of the 
 loaded dice by which they gain joy and honour, the 
 respect of the envious, and the esteem of the power- 
 less. Gamblers are bold men. Are you fit for this 
 game? I will be at your side, you may be sure. 
 You knew that before you spoke, didn't you? But 
 there is only one thing, and that is to make her love 
 you. And what can a child like Claudia know of 
 love?" 
 
106 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "But surely her heart must wake." 
 
 "Yes, and with all my heart I hope it will be to 
 your call/* 
 
 "Who knows? Love can awaken love." 
 
 "I've seen that. Your chance would be fine at 
 Ste. Radegonde. In Paris with millions, and at 
 twenty! I don't know." 
 
 "And the power of truth?" 
 
 "And the greater power of falsehood?" 
 
 "For a day!" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. But we are the creatures of a 
 day." 
 
 "And what about my will? Have I fought for 
 two years against myself to let myself be beaten now 
 without a struggle?" 
 
 "You will fight gallantly, I am sure. We will 
 fight side by side, and I will not spare myself, for I 
 would die happy if I left in your hands what is 
 dearest to me. However, do not under-estimate 
 the forces of the world. Everything that can 
 touch Claudia will be against you, except myself. 
 That is your chance, my friend. But you're of 
 a generation that talks and doesn't act. It isn't 
 much better than the disorder of my own time. 
 Come, leave dreams behind and live your love. 
 I will help you if you help yourself. Into the 
 battle!" 
 
 "I will be worthy of your help." 
 
 "That's nothing. We must win Claudia. All 
 
THE STRONGEST 107 
 
 I can do is to fight against the enemy. Meanwhile, 
 you must make her love you." 
 
 "I'll try/' 
 
 "Weakness. I hoped that you would say: 'I 
 will make her love me*. " 
 
 " Very well, then : I will make her love me." 
 
 "Here is my hand. May the day come when there 
 will be three of us." 
 
 Puymaufray was filled with joy and confidence 
 for he feared nothing more than the crisis of marriage. 
 Deschars's true and simple love made him supremely 
 hopeful. They were two now in the work of salva- 
 tion. However, he was not blind to the difficulties 
 in their way. In spite of him, and in spite of herself, 
 Claudia had turned toward another conception of 
 life. What horizons would the Simple love of the 
 bourgeois country squire open before her, when on 
 every side she would be tempted by offers to rule over 
 Paris? Undoubtedly she would come back to the 
 protecting wing of her godfather, who might save 
 her from these vulgar calculations. But what a 
 contrast between the apparent monotony of quiet 
 happiness and the fairy dreams of the world ! Henri 
 reflected, and tried to compute his strength. He 
 returned to the thought of Claire; he was supported 
 by the advice of Nanette. 
 
 "How fortunate," said she, "that our Claudia 
 should be loved by this fine man whom we ourselves 
 have always loved. The good God in heaven owed 
 
.108 THE STRONGEST 
 
 us that. Long ago I thought I was discovering 
 something, but when he went away and stayed in 
 savage countries, I thought I must have been mis- 
 taken. And then he comes back, just in time, I say. 
 Only he must speak; he must show himself. I 
 thought that he was hiding, and I asked myself: 
 'What's wrong with him?'" 
 
 ''Nothing wrong, Nanette, except that profound 
 love is timid. The other kind is eloquent and skilful 
 and has all the chances of victory." 
 
 "That's why so many women are deceived." 
 
 "Yes," said Henri. 5 "And for many other reasons 
 besides." r 
 
 "As many as you like," agreed Nanette. "Only all 
 I say is that M. Deschars had better be active, or 
 all your preachings won't do him any good." 
 
 "I told him so. His ambitions are not going to 
 dazzle Claudia. He'll have to make her love him, 
 and that will need some effort with the young prin- 
 cess, who is always having incense burned before her. 
 Pe'rhaps Maurice is a little bit rusty, but I am sure 
 his energy will come back as soon as he sees his first 
 rival. And besides, I have seen many who tortured 
 themselves at night and were bravest under fire the 
 next day." 
 
 "Good. Only beware of the comtesse. That 
 woman has different ideas which we don't know. 
 She has begun by taking you to Paris under her 
 hand." 
 
THE STRONGEST 109 
 
 "If I had to do it to save Claudia, I would unmask 
 her," declared Henri. 
 
 "That's what you say. But when you come to do 
 it, it may be too late. What can you say about her 
 to people who know her better than you do? The 
 strong need the strong, as M. Harle says. They for- 
 give one another everything." 
 
 "I will do what has to be done, but I will get 
 Claudia away from her. And Maurice comes just 
 at the right time for that." 
 
 "I don't like the thought of your struggling far 
 away from me. One day I may drop in on you." 
 
 "And surely if I ask you to?" 
 
 A letter from Claudia allayed all the disquiet at 
 Puymaufray. She wrote: 
 
 Do come, Uncle dear. You've spoiled me too much 
 with love. I find life stupid without your gentle scolding. 
 Come, you will not be bored. Papa won't have time to 
 quarrel with you because he is spending day and night 
 with Baron Oppert. Busy, it seems, preparing something 
 which will bring the Grand Mogul to my feet. The poten- 
 tate will not be alone there if I am to judge by the ardour 
 of poetic youth, which is burning around me with the purest 
 flame. What can all this disinterested homage mean? 
 I ask you. At first I thought of the great beauty of my 
 soul of the soul I would have if I listened to my uncle. 
 But I am told that that is not enough, there must be some- 
 thing else. 
 
 If my eyes aren't open, it's not the fault of Mme. la 
 
110 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Comtesse, who is a perfect friend to me. It seems so 
 wonderful that her advice resembles yours so much. I 
 can't help telling her so sometimes; she laughs and seems 
 happy. Uncle, you work miracles. 
 
 What isn't a miracle, is that I love you above all. I 
 would be the most miserable ingrate if I didn't. But 
 just because you know that I will not change, is that a rea- 
 son for abandoning me much longer to the adoring enter- 
 prises of which I am the victim? Please have pity on a 
 poor deserted divinity who needs your help. 
 
 Ask M. Deschars to make Nanette lend me the mag- 
 nificence of India with which he was going to clothe her. 
 I think I will need it this spring. I kiss you, Uncle dear, 
 and Nanette. 
 
 This letter, read to Deschars, was a trumpet call. 
 He left, mad with hope and, embracing his friend, 
 whispered: "Au revoir, father," which made Puy- 
 maufray tremble with joy. 
 
 A strange thing. Every day Henri discovered 
 some new reasons for delaying his departure. What 
 could hold him back, when Claudia was calling him, 
 when after long despair everything seemed to foretell 
 the success of the supreme effort? In spite of him- 
 self, the chateau, the village, the woods, the roads, 
 all these silent witnesses of the spirit which had 
 departed, held him imbedded like a stone in the soil, 
 refused to give him back to the living. It was here 
 that Claire had lived, here that they had loved, here 
 that the same blow had struck both of them down. 
 
THE STRONGEST 111 
 
 He could not leave the spot without a struggle. But 
 finally the day of his departure was fixed. 
 
 Pierre Quete, very solemn, and his brother Jean, 
 Harle's superintendent, came to bid him good-bye. 
 "We couldn't let you go, Monsieur Henri, without 
 coming down to shake hands." 
 
 "Thanks, Pierre; and you, Jean; you are good 
 friends, I am glad to pass my last evening with you." 
 
 They sat down before the fireplace. 
 
 ' ' Monsieur Henri, ' ' said the superintendent. " You 
 weren't angry with me the other day for keeping out 
 of your way when you were marching around the 
 factory?" 
 
 "I know you, Jean. I knew that you weren't tak- 
 ing any risks." 
 
 "Oh, it was fine. The boss seemed very well 
 satisfied. I heard him saying to the lady: *I make 
 this. I make that.' And I thought to myself 'JFtf're 
 making something, too'." 
 
 "Oh, come. No one imagines he makes paper all 
 by himself. He meant to say VeV 
 
 "I know it, M'sieur Henri. Only he always says 
 
 T >J 
 
 "The same as you, Jean. You have your grapes 
 brought in and then you say: 'I'm making wine'." 
 
 "Why, that's true," said the other, laughing. "I 
 didn't know I was a boss." 
 
 "You see, we're never wounded except by the sel- 
 fishness of others." 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 "That's possible. But there is Pierre. He is a 
 boss, too, down at the smithy. The men that work 
 for him are his friends. They live the same life, have 
 the same ideas, and pull at the same yoke. It's not 
 that way between M. Harle and us!" 
 
 "Big and little in that case, I suppose." 
 
 "Exactly. He is very big and we are very small. 
 We have different interests, or even opposite ones, 
 and our feelings follow our interests. You say that 
 we are all making paper. Well, and who makes the 
 division of profits? M. Harle is all '/' when it comes 
 to that. There is a story about that: a lion that 
 divides the quarry with his hunting companions and 
 gives himself all the good pieces." 
 
 "And what about you, Pierre?" said Henri; "do 
 you let your people fix their own wages?" 
 
 "No, but they fight about them, just the same- 
 nd then they see that I am not making hundreds 
 and thousands out of them, like M. Harle. I 
 don't suppose I would be any better than any- 
 body else. I suppose I am not big enough to do any 
 harm." 
 
 "That's just it," said the superintendent. "My 
 brother is one with his men. They stick close to 
 each other. There isn't room for so much injustice, 
 and it's easier to understand each other. And then, 
 just because Pierre puts his money down on the table 
 on pay day, he doesn't think that he is a benefactor 
 of the whole world. To hear M. Harle speak, you 
 
THE STRONGEST 113 
 
 would think he was St. Vincent de Paul. Is he a 
 manufacturer of paper, because he wants to make 
 money, or because he wants to give it away? If it's 
 to give away, why does he keep as much as he can for 
 himself? If it's to make money, why is he always 
 telling us about his favours? The only time he is 
 really sincere is when he says: *I am the strongest'. 
 All right, let him be until the time when strength 
 will be on the other side." 
 
 "And how will you accomplish that, friend Jean?" 
 
 " I won't do it. Nor anybody else. It will be the 
 whole world. I don't know how. Everybody to- 
 gether will get the better of the few. Don't you see 
 everywhere that people are growing? That's all 
 we need. When they get the idea of bossing them- 
 selves they will find the way. The men were laugh- 
 ing the other day, to hear M. Harle say to that woman 
 from Paris: 'My men are happy'. What does he 
 know about it? He buys them n the factory with 
 his wages. He buys them outside with his aid so- 
 cieties, which fasten the chains on for life. They 
 accept what he calls his benefactions and put them 
 down to remorse. They accept and they wait. . . ." 
 
 "It's not a very lovely future that you are out- 
 lining to me." 
 
 "It's not a very lovely present that I see. And 
 I don't think you could call it bad to put justice in 
 the place of force." 
 
 "Certainly not. But in order to achieve it, even 
 
114 THE STRONGEST 
 
 supposing that our spirit and our will are enough, 
 how many struggles, how many evils! We are old 
 friends. You come to me in a moment of affection. 
 And it's something like a declaration of war that I 
 find deep in your hearts." 
 
 "But war, M'sieur Henri, they're making war on 
 us. We are compelled to accept. Besides, it has 
 nothing to do with you. If you think that just be- 
 cause you are a marquis you are on the side of the 
 strongest, as M. Harle says, you are fooling yourself. 
 Perhaps your ancestors; yes, surely. And you your- 
 self, I suppose when you had your millions. But 
 you didn't know how to make them grow, nor even 
 how to keep them. Now, you're a proprietor just 
 as Pierre is a blacksmith on a small scale. I mean 
 in comparison with M. Harle. And then, you are 
 from the village, like ourselves. Everything that 
 interests us touches you. You help your farmers 
 without talking about it. And you don't always get 
 your rent, in spite of Nanette, who won't listen to 
 reason. It's simply because you are a good man. 
 You love the small people since you are yourself one 
 of them, and they love you." 
 
 "The fact is that I wasn't worth much before. I 
 didn't know you or anybody. I knew nothing of 
 men. I was too far from them." 
 
 "That's exactly what Jean said," remarked Pierre. 
 "You were one of the strongest. When you saw that 
 justice wasn't on their side, you left them. And so 
 
THE STRONGEST 115 
 
 we love you. What are you going to do in Paris now ? 
 You don't belong to that country." 
 
 "There are many countries in that country. The 
 one in which I am going to pass a few weeks or 
 perhaps a few months is the one that used to be 
 mine. I agree with you, Pierre, my boy, that I shall 
 not cut a brilliant figure." 
 
 "Oh, M'sieur Henri, that isn't at all what I meant. 
 You won't need anybody to show you the way. My 
 idea is tihat you have changed while all your friends 
 remained the same. So you won't understand each 
 other, and I am sure you will be unhappy." 
 
 "Perhaps that's true. But you don't think 
 that I am going to put^ myself out to say what I 
 think." 
 
 "That isn't going to help matters, M'sieur Henri," 
 replied the smith, who having but few objects for his 
 thought, divined many things. "You are not going 
 to Paris only for amusement. You will have to try 
 to get on with your people. It isn't easy when you 
 feel differently. Then you will be at war, and there 
 will be too many against you." 
 
 "And aren't you at war, you? Don't forget, I 
 have the advantage of not needing anybody else in 
 order to get along." 
 
 "We found our lot when we were born. We never 
 knew anything else. Every man is in his own camp; 
 that's another saying of M. Harle. People are far 
 from each other, as you said just now. So they can 
 
116 THE STRONGEST 
 
 misunderstand each other, and hate each other, and 
 do each other harm without remorse. But you, 
 you're different. They will say that you are desert- 
 ing your class. You will be the enemy. There will 
 be a league against you all of the strongest and 
 you won't be able to do what you want to do." 
 
 "I don't want to do anything." 
 
 " So long as we are alive we always want something. 
 You don't have to earn your living, but you want to 
 love and be loved like everybody; more, since you are 
 better. In Paris those who ought to love you won't. 
 They won't even get to know you. And those who 
 love you will love you less, because everything will 
 turn them away from you. Wouldn't you do better 
 to stay here with us?" 
 
 "I can't. I have to go." 
 
 "Really," said Nanette, "wouldn't you think that 
 m'sieur le marquis was going to war? Thank God 
 he came back from the war. Paris won't take him 
 away from us." 
 
 "You are right," said Pierre. "It was friendship 
 that made me speak. I don't know why, but I was 
 sorry to see M'sieur Henri go." 
 
 "All we wish," said Jean, "is that he comes back 
 happy." 
 
 "Who knows," said Nanette, dreamily. "Per- 
 haps his turn is coming." 
 
 "For that," Pierre followed out his idea, "you 
 mustn't put your happiness in other people." 
 
THE STRONGEST 117 
 
 Henri closed his eyes, to see again his eternal image. 
 "Happiness," he said, "is only in giving yourself." 
 
 Their pipes had gone out and their glasses were 
 empty. Henri filled them again for the farewell, 
 and they gravely clinked. For simple folk there is 
 something akin to the accomplishment of an august 
 rite in this touching of glasses. Henri looked at the 
 two brothers silent, embarrassed more moved than 
 they wanted to say, and in spite of unhappy words, 
 felt comforted by their friendship. The sincerest ten- 
 derness can only use the ordinary, indifferent words 
 of courtesy. But the expression, gesture, silence 
 itself, tell everything. When they shook hands they 
 found nothing to say; with an indistinct " Au revoir," 
 they separated. 
 
 The next day Nanette said only: "Write me and 
 I shall know whether I ought to come." She pressed 
 him tenderly to her heart, pitying him, since neither 
 the greatest love nor the most beautiful friendship 
 had brought him anything but misery. 
 
 The carriage went slowly down the road. Then, 
 at a turn, suddenly disappeared. She could still 
 hear the rolling of the wheels and the rapid trot of 
 the horse. The winds carried the distant noise to the 
 horizon. And Nanette, remaining alone, was free 
 to cry. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 FOR his ordinary trips to Paris, Harle gen- 
 erally reserved a luxurious apartment in the 
 Hotel Mirabeau. He had long ago given 
 up the idea of a fixed residence, which he feared 
 would be too troublesome. But his rising position 
 gave him social duties wherein he saw a chance for 
 future glory. Besides, Claudia, whose inheritance 
 was already beginning to attract the dowry-hunters, 
 could not remain in the hurly-burly of a hotel. 
 
 The Comtesse de Fourchamps had, therefore, little 
 trouble hi convincing the visitor that the hour had 
 come for him to establish himself in Paris, in the 
 centre of the world. Through her good offices a 
 bargain was found: the princely home of a broker, 
 suddenly obliged to realize all his wealth, had been 
 left in the hands of Baron Oppert. In the midst of 
 a great garden, along the Avenue Friedland, stood a 
 heavy and pretentious marble structure. Harle, 
 who had been coached, was dazzled by its magni- 
 ficence and the business was soon arranged. They 
 decided to make it a surprise for Claudia. A month 
 later the noisy extravagance of the place had been 
 toned down under the eye of the comtesse. Harle 
 
 118 
 
THE STRONGEST 119 
 
 wanted to duplicate his winter garden, with its pre- 
 cious waterfall, and fancied that a collection of orchids, 
 bought at random, would give it an air of supreme 
 refinement. He would gladly have given up his 
 Rubenses and his Ruysdaels for what he could find 
 in the warehouses. The comtesse dissuaded him. 
 She even succeeded in preventing the purchase of a 
 lot of armour on which Harle had set his heart. 
 Thanks to the firmness of the woman of the world 
 the decorations of the house were kept within the 
 limits of moderate splendour. 
 
 The masterpiece of the comtesse's taste was 
 Claudia's apartment. It was full of light and colour. 
 "A smile of spring," she said. When she had gone 
 to Ste. Radegonde, the comtesse had announced that 
 everything was ready. What she had not said was 
 that she had taken Claudia into the secret, spoiling 
 the climax in order to win Claudia's confidence. 
 Even in the full flow of her confidences with Henri, 
 Claudia faithfully kept her promise to be silent. 
 
 When Harle came to Paris, he wished to go at once 
 from the station to the Avenue Friedland. The 
 comtesse disagreed, insisting that Puymaufray must 
 take part in the surprise. They had to wait for 
 his arrival, so that he could see the little suite which 
 was at his disposal. Finally the four friends rang 
 the bell and an English butler opened the court of 
 honour to their carriage. 
 
 There were flowers everywhere. The livery was 
 
120 THE STRONGEST 
 
 too new. There was an excess of wealth, in spite 
 of the effort at restraint. It gave the sense of a very 
 recent title, which had to display itself and conquer 
 at once. Claudia's astonishment was well planned 
 too well perhaps. Henri rejoiced to see her clap 
 her hands, go into ecstasies over the furniture and 
 trinkets which she herself had chosen. He was 
 grateful to the comtesse. 
 
 "You know," said Harle, "but for Mme. la Com- 
 tesse you wouldn't be in the party. I hardly had 
 patience to wait for you." 
 
 He was compelled to show his gratitude. 
 
 "I owe you a great pleasure, madame," he said, 
 pointing to Claudia, who was loudly rejoicing in the 
 Sheraton. 
 
 The comtesse smiled without answering, as if to 
 say: "It isn't my fault if you misunderstood me." 
 At bottom she couldn't help being proud of her facile 
 triumph. The marquis, she thought, was yielding. 
 And as for Claudia, the exuberance of her art 
 of deceit seemed to justify the confidence of her 
 teacher. 
 
 After they had seen and admired everything tea 
 was served under the exotic foliage of the hall. 
 Puymaufray thanked them for offering him a suite, 
 but announced that he had taken lodgings with Des- 
 chars in a hotel on the rue de Rivoli, and would not 
 leave his travelling companion. The comtesse ap- 
 proved strongly and went into a heartfelt eulogy of 
 
THE STRONGEST 121 
 
 the young man. She had reflected on the possible 
 chance of his flirting with Claudia. Harle's refusal 
 was certain, but she did not care to begin by a refusal 
 and take the risk of making the girl obstinate. She 
 thought it better to give the young man every chance 
 to urge him on with kind words and gain his 
 confidence. She would arrange it with Claudia, dis- 
 couraging her gently with the prospect of a happiness 
 so completely cut off from the world that it would 
 seem no happiness at all to her. 
 
 Harle was rather surprised to find Deschars in such 
 favour and asked Henri to bring him to the family 
 dinner with which the palace was to be opened that 
 evening. Baron Oppert had promised to come with 
 his cousin, the Abbe Nathaniel, cure of St. Exupere 
 des-Anges. The priest had had some undefinable 
 part in the negotiations between Harle and the baron. 
 The signatures were already affixed; they were on 
 the eve of action. While Puymaufray and Claudia 
 were busy discussing matters of dress Harle and the 
 countess were deep in mysterious conferences. 
 
 Henri had come up fresh from his village to be 
 shocked by the exaggerations of the prevailing 
 styles; and it hurt him to see that Claudia carried 
 them to extremes. It hurt him more because the 
 atmosphere of Paris, with its temptations to coquetry, 
 gave a provocative air to the marked beauty of the 
 girl. He would have liked to be silent, for the con- 
 tinuous preaching of good sense is hateful to the 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 young, and has the further disadvantage of being 
 always right. What was to be done? 
 
 With endless precaution in choosing his words he 
 told her that youth and beauty were enough and that 
 art only spoiled what it tried to adorn. 
 
 "Uncle," she answered,:" look at the woodcuts of 
 your own age and you'll see that women dressed just 
 as absurdly as they do to-day. That didn't shock 
 you. It's because you were young then, Uncle. Now 
 I am young. Do me the justice of being indulgent." 
 
 "I love you, my dear, and that's enough. The 
 pictures you're talking about are mannequins, not 
 real women, who wouldn't dream of having their 
 pictures in portfolios. The others wanted to attract 
 attention. Would that they could have heard what 
 people said! There is a limit to everything. Dress 
 is merely a frame. Go down to the Louvre and see 
 if the masterpieces are loaded down with useless 
 ornaments . ' ' 
 
 "Oh, men don't know anything about it, I swear." 
 
 "Nevertheless, women always dress for men." 
 
 "Maybe," said the comtesse, who caught Henri's 
 last word and came to Claudia's aid. "You must 
 know, my dear marquis, that women dress for women, 
 and that a man's opinion in this matter is worthless 
 unless he happen to be a painter or a dressmaker." 
 
 "If you say so, madame, it must be true. All 
 the same I'd like to ask you to help me cure Claudia 
 of her excesses." 
 
THE STRONGEST 123 
 
 "Alas, I envy them!" sighed the comtesse. It 
 was her policy to let Claudia slip, so that her tender- 
 ness would be appreciated in the midst of scoldings. 
 "It's right for her age. Time will cure her better 
 than we can." 
 
 " I know it," said Puymauf ray. " What makes me 
 furious is that the youth of to-day puts all its exub- 
 erance into gloves and hats and feathers. In our 
 time we carried our twenties in our hearts." 
 
 "And all thisfuss because my sleeves are toopuffy." 
 
 "Ah, yes. It's all one. There is a costume to 
 suggest folly just as there is one which can suggest 
 the idea of living in the simplicity of one's self, 
 which is beauty." 
 
 "If you're going to judge hearts by the cut of 
 wool or silk, do you know what you ought to do? 
 Come with us to the dressmaker to-morrow. You 
 will check Claudia's fantasies as much as you please 
 and Morgan himself may profit from your lessons." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I'm serious. Do come. You will have the first 
 glimpse of my * snowball' gown, which I am sure 
 will defy your criticism!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Uncle; come along. We'll rig up a 
 mannequin in your style and I'm sure you'll fall 
 back in horror before your own work." 
 
 "Excellent. I'll confront Morgan in person." 
 
 At eight that evening Baron Oppert and the 
 abbe came into the little salon. The Comtesse de 
 
124 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Fourchamps was already there and a few moments 
 later Puymaufray came in, followed by Deschars. 
 
 "Well," said Claudia to the young man, "do you 
 like Paris?" 
 
 "I like Paris to-night very much," answered 
 Maurice, "but I'm afraid of Paris to-morrow." 
 
 "And I thought you were a brave man." 
 
 "I thought so myself. You never know your- 
 self." 
 
 "What frightens you?" 
 
 "The unknown. The noisy crowd with nothing 
 to do, which refuses to be disturbed. You yourself, 
 who seem, somehow, different from what you were 
 at Ste. Radegonde." 
 
 "You are right. I am different. The joyful 
 crowd that makes you angry has an effect on my 
 soul. It attracts me. This morning my uncle 
 told me to be twenty. I hope you won't refuse to 
 take part in my pleasures." 
 
 "You are Mile. Claudia Harl, and you will never 
 be refused pleasure." 
 
 "Do you know anything better than that? " 
 
 "Yes. Happiness." 
 
 The comtesse quoted the saying of a Chevalier 
 de Boufflers that "happiness is permanent pleasure ! " 
 
 "Yes . . . which renews itself." 
 
 "And where do you find that?" 
 
 "In those you love." 
 
 "That's very chancy according to what I hear. 
 
THE STRONGEST 125 
 
 You have to be born for that and find your fate. 
 That's what you mean by 'those you love,' isn't it? 
 That's a lot of trouble. We still have plenty of 
 time. I want to have a good time first." 
 
 Meanwhile Baron Oppert was exchanging the 
 usual formalities with Henri de Puymaufray. The 
 financier's star had begun to rise only after Henri 
 had plunged into the abyss. 
 
 Henri saw before him a little bald man whose 
 rosy face was framed in a silky white beard. A large 
 mouth with a great upper lip under a little cynical 
 nose smiled benevolently at some secret thought while 
 the yellow eyes, shining with a cold light, shot pierc- 
 ing rays through the most impenetrable armour. 
 His voice was soft and warm, with that oriental 
 frankness of accent which the westerner will always 
 suspect if he is wise. Under the appearance of 
 generosity there was a remnant of ancient servility, 
 the treacherous revenge of the conquered. There 
 was the dream of treasure which haunts the Asiatic 
 mind. He had an extraordinary power of attract- 
 ing men and things, with the innate knowledge of 
 how to get the most out of them. He had the vanity 
 of a slave become king, with the most complete 
 contempt for humanity, based on the belief against 
 which no part of him protested that the soul was 
 as marketable as the body. With this he had the 
 good features of disinterest. Altogether he was com- 
 plicated and strong. 
 
126 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Far from denying his Jewish birth, Oppert prided 
 himself on it, superbly. His favourite theme was 
 the high antiquity of his race. "With Moses and 
 Jesus we conquered the world," he would say again 
 and again. He seemed to have become a Christian 
 out of pride in Christ the Jew, as much as by the need 
 for security which made Paul a Roman citizen. 
 He did not hate the weak. He feared only that they 
 would yield to the temptation to get together and 
 revolt, whereby they must ultimately suffer. To 
 prevent this misfortune he readily invoked the aid 
 of the supreme means: force, "always most effi- 
 cacious when it is abused," he said. "A little wrong 
 for a great good," he would say when people protested 
 against savage repressions. He was a born enemy 
 of the vanquished, siding by nature with the strong- 
 est, and his only thought was to reap the utmost 
 advantage from those whom he served. And if it 
 happened that the law was lacking in curiosity 
 about his strokes of genius, at least he never was 
 lacking in gratitude and supported the law with all 
 his moral authority. 
 
 TTis title was authentic, from the Pope, and he 
 always said "we" when speaking of the nobility. 
 His brother Simon, also a convert, had bought a 
 Portuguese title for their father, in order to provide 
 himself with an ancestor. The old nobleman had, 
 however, been left in tatters and died on his pallet 
 in the ghetto of Amsterdam without even suspect- 
 
THE STRONGEST 127 
 
 fng his grandeur. Samuel Oppert refused to rec- 
 ognize this Portuguese title and remained a baron 
 of Christ as before. In spite of the announcement 
 notifying the world that the Oppert dynasty counted 
 two generations of nobility at least, the Roman baron 
 never forgave his Portuguese brother for buying his 
 title "dirt cheap." It seemed to lower the value of 
 his own. He could long ago have bought himself a 
 dukedom, but as Paris did not yet recognize his 
 baronetcy he left that innocent vanity to the younger 
 sons of old French families. 
 
 The world, to be sure, was not too particular. 
 What the world saw was that the baron counted his 
 millions by hundreds and his brother only by ones. 
 Since it is wrong to despise the poor, Count Simon 
 was fairly well received and his daughter married 
 an Austrian prince. But the baron exercised sov- 
 ereign power. Governments called him into con- 
 sultation; pretenders counted upon him. He was 
 the hope of the upper classes, the fortress of those 
 modern aristocracies which base their glory on the 
 double advantage of high or low commerce and the 
 old tradition of the superiority of blood. 
 
 Such a man was bound to inspire immense respect 
 no matter what his beginnings had been. In addi- 
 tion his brother, the abbe Nathaniel a tall, stoop- 
 ing Galician made clear to all eyes that the ap- 
 proval of the Church was given. He was the go- 
 between for financial negotiations. 
 
128 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Puymaufray quickly noticed the harmony be- 
 tween the manufacturer, the priest, and the financier. 
 He thought nothing of it, for he was busy watching 
 the comtesse whose own eye was on Deschars. 
 
 Dinner was served. They went into the dining 
 room, where the walls had disappeared under plants 
 and greenery. The display everything brand new, 
 the silver and crystal glittering amid the orchids 
 and roses hurt Maurice as if it had been a flowering 
 wall raised up between him and Claudia. There 
 were exclamations of admiration in which Harle 
 revelled. The baron asked for explanations. He 
 got them. Harle took the house apart under the 
 eyes of the guests, detailed all its perfections, left 
 out nothing. His discourse continued until the 
 roast, and then he stopped only to catch his breath. 
 The comtesse skilfully shot in a remark about a burn- 
 ing question of the day and the conversation became 
 general. 
 
 The question of the day concerned a Mile. Lu- 
 cienne Preban, the very ugly daughter of a very rich 
 sugar refiner. Some foppish little under-secretary 
 of state on the lookout for a good thing had told her 
 that he loved her. 
 
 "Ah, there are many of you that do," the unhappy 
 girl answered. "I admit that I like you very much. 
 But what can I do? My fortune imposes duties on 
 me just as the throne imposes duty on royalty. We 
 haven't the-right to do what we please with ourselves. 
 
THE STRONGEST 129 
 
 Pity me! What can I do with all these princes of 
 mine? You'll see; they'll make me marry one some 
 day in a fit of boredom. If you were even a duke 
 your love would make me very happy. Perhaps 
 Fate will arrange some revenge for us. You have a 
 great destiny before you. Let us be patient, my 
 friend." 
 
 The discomfiture of the young politician, much 
 advertised by Lucienne herself, caused great amuse- 
 ment. She was known to be secretly in love with a 
 moustached Levantine. 
 
 "That girl's not a fool," cried Harle. "I detest 
 those puppies who try to get in with us because they 
 happen to be playing second fiddle in the Chamber. 
 You applaud a tenor. But the composer is the real 
 'Master' as people say. All these politicians do 
 is to sing the words we put down. I don't like people 
 to forget that we are the composers." 
 
 "You're right, my friend," said the baron; "we do 
 give the artist his material. But that isn't an argu- 
 ment against our interpreters. Rossini and Wagner 
 need singers. You see, we're modest, simple men of 
 action. We are satisfied with the realities of power 
 and leave the official pomp and circumstance to 
 others." 
 
 "Perhaps we're wrong," answered Harle, haunted 
 with political ambitions. 
 
 "Perhaps. We use the movements of humanity 
 for our own ends. But we might as well confess 
 
130 THE STRONGEST 
 
 that the impulse doesn't come from us. People 
 have to believe that they are going where they are 
 not going. To make them obey us we've got to 
 excite them with some sentimentality, and we order 
 the speakers and writers and artists to furnish it. 
 That's what people stupidly call *the ideas which 
 lead the people.' Our art is to choose between these 
 fantasies and use those which suit our purpose. It 
 isn't necessary for these ideas to be " 
 
 "True," said Puymaufray, softly. 
 
 "Exactly," answered the baron, without moving 
 an eyelash. "The truth, as you understand it, can 
 be food for only a few. Prophets, poets, forerunners, 
 as we say nowadays people who'll be understood 
 later. The crowd lives by the half truths which you 
 call lies. They are the prejudice of the crowd in 
 favour of a safe life, and we ought to reward all those 
 who create these prejudices and put them into cir- 
 culation. They serve the common good and in- 
 crease the power of the elite. So I'm all for Dumou- 
 zin who wanted to marry Lucienne Preban. He was 
 a member of my hunting party and his only mistake 
 was that he didn't ask my advice." 
 
 "Dumouzin," said the countess, "is one of my 
 friends. His adventure with Lucienne Preban has 
 done him no harm. It puts him in the ranks of the 
 great marriage-makers." 
 
 "And so," asked Puymaufray, "this gentleman is 
 publicly known to be negotiating the sale of his 
 
THE STRONGEST 131 
 
 charms. And when the Church has set the seal of its 
 blessing on the contract, it will be a title of honour." 
 
 "There you are," cried the baron. "That's one 
 of those truths which I was talking about. All right 
 for a dozen or two exquisite souls. I admit that, in 
 accordance with divine morality, Dumouzin will 
 not go without rebuke, and some of his contempo- 
 raries with him. But the money market will flourish 
 just as usefully among us. The sale, as you call it, 
 is an accepted transaction, and I say it's somewhere 
 between vice and virtue. The law doesn't attempt 
 to punish all moral failings. Doesn't it rather 
 admit that certain faults are to be tolerated and even 
 honoured, so that life is possible without the continu- 
 ous effort to be perfect, which would be too much. 
 The great oligarchies were based on wealth, originally. 
 So we mustn't look too closely at any transfer of 
 money. Because that's the essential thing if you're 
 going to keep up the power of money in the in- 
 terests of the poor, whom it keeps alive." 
 
 Henri was silent; he thought of his own millions, 
 ingloriously strewn over the streets of Paris. Harle 
 approved, noisily. When the dessert was served 
 he began again to sing the praises of the wonders he 
 himself had accomplished. He could not refrain 
 from calling attention to the monstrous peaches. 
 
 "I know them," said the baron. "Beautiful, but 
 tasteless. A lesson to the poets who write only 
 about beauty." 
 
182 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Then, turning to Deschars: 
 
 "And you, traveller, can't you tell us something 
 of what the pagans think about marriage? You 
 could show M. Puymaufray how far we have pro- 
 gressed under Christianity which makes marriage a 
 sacrament. Didn't you ever see a husband purchase 
 his wife, in Asia?" 
 
 "Yes, baron," the young man answered. "It's 
 only in Europe that I've seen the wife buy the 
 husband." 
 
 They cried out at his words, which were generally 
 considered to be in bad taste. Claudia seemed par- 
 ticularly shocked, and her irritation increased with 
 Puymaufray's evident approval of Deschars. 
 
 "You could dirty everything by saying that," she 
 said bitterly, "if you're going to judge only by ap- 
 pearances. Apparently a poor millionaire's daugh- 
 ter can't marry like any one else. You say that 
 she's being married for her money. Well, you have 
 to marry for something, for beauty, or character, 
 or wealth, or whatever you please. Perhaps the 
 best insurance for a long life together is that condi- 
 tions should be equal. Lucienne will bring her mil- 
 lions; he will bring his great name, or his ambitions, 
 which need the lever of wealth. And look, you 
 call that agreement buying and selling. The 
 law calls that a contract, and that's right. Surely 
 we're all free to dispose of ourselves to the best 
 advantage." 
 
THE STRONGEST 133 
 
 "That's the way to talk," shouted Dominic, 
 heartily satisfied. 
 
 "Yes," answered Puymaufray, "that's the phi- 
 losophy of the age. The only thing we forget is 
 love." 
 
 "No one denies love, my dear marquis," said the 
 countess. "But who knows when it will come?" 
 
 "May be there's a shepherd somewhere up on the 
 Alps who would be my ideal, and I his," insisted 
 Claudia, vexed with her uncle's reproaches. "But 
 before I can get to him, I'd have plenty of chances to 
 break my neck. And then, suppose there wasn't 
 any shepherd." 
 
 "Fie! Young and afraid!" said Puymaufray in a 
 shaking voice, as if to himself. 
 
 "You see, M. Deschars," said the comtesse, "that 
 wit isn't enough. You have to be logical, too." 
 
 "At least you will admit that we put the wrong 
 names on things," answered Maurice. "And be- 
 sides, I should say that all these discussions about 
 love are futile. Because even the hardest of us 
 changes his ideas when he is touched with love. 
 Those who worry about the contract, since that's 
 the official word for it, simply show that they do not 
 love. We love when we can; and when we do love, 
 rich or poor, all is well." 
 
 "All is well for how long?" demanded Claudia. 
 
 "For a time. That's a great deal to start with. 
 Our life isn't so long." 
 
134 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "That's it," said the baron, cheerfully. "You 
 youngsters can make the old ones ashamed. M. 
 Deschars has uttered the great secret that puts us 
 all in harmony. All men are alike, let me tell you, 
 because I know them. All of them do the same 
 thing in marriage and in everything else. They act 
 in accordance with their temporary interest. Those 
 who do otherwise either do not count, or they repent. 
 And then, after they've acted, they build up a 
 theory and claim that logic justifies them. How- 
 ever, under their acts, under their words which 
 are only external and I might almost say indifferent 
 things there flourishes obscurely in the depths of 
 our soul something essentially pure and essentially 
 beautiful even in those that have lost the best part 
 of themselves in the thickets of life; it is the need for 
 disinterested feeling, for love, as you say, which 
 seeks ever its match. And if these two blossoms 
 meet in the obscure conflicts of life, life flowers 
 magically. It is a chance. If they do not meet, 
 then each one must work his way out, adapting him- 
 self to chance encounters, to the changing but nec- 
 essary conventions by which the divine law is ac- 
 commodated to human frailty." 
 
 "Bravo, baron," cried the comtesse, mockingly. 
 "I didn't know you were a poet." 
 
 "The race of David is a race of poets, madame, 
 which doesn't prevent it from being practical at 
 times." 
 
THE STRONGEST 135 
 
 "And what is your conclusion, dear baron?" asked 
 Harle. 
 
 "Ah, the conclusion, my friend, is very different 
 from M. Deschars's conclusion. He insists on con- 
 fusing the social permanence of marriage and the 
 passing of a poetic dream. I distinguish sharply, 
 without demanding the complete sacrifice of poetry. 
 It would be difficult to be more precise and the abbe, 
 who's watching me, would not permit. Be calm. 
 Apart from the sacrament, concerning which the 
 Church knows best, how can any one deny that mar- 
 riage, in our society, is above all the setting for a 
 play which is acted in our own hearts? I don't 
 say it ought to be that way. I state the fact, that 
 it is. The abbe preaches that it ought to be different, 
 and I agree thoroughly. Let our young people 
 make us a new world." 
 
 The dinner came to an end. Puymaufray was 
 silent, thinking of the incredible mixture of contradic- 
 tory sentiments in the soul of the poet-financier, 
 thinking of the ravages that his cynicism could work 
 in the soul of a young girl. Deschars discontented 
 with himself and with everything laughed harshly, 
 his nerves sadly torn. Claudia gave each one a 
 branch of apple blossoms, which had been strewn 
 over the table, and they walked into the conserva- 
 tory processionally, shaking off flakes of light. 
 
 "You might think it was a pagan festival," mur- 
 mured the abbe, much embarrassed by his branch. 
 
136 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Yes. It is the festival of the Spring," remarked 
 Claudia. "But^ look, M. Deschars, look what en- 
 dures." She showed him the naked branch, let it fall at 
 her feet with a gesture of melancholy, and then, as if 
 to escape a bitter memory, hurried to join the others. 
 
 "True," he answered. "But the branch flowered 
 once. Life* said a great poet, is to flower!" 
 
 "Life is to endure." 
 
 "According to that, a muslin rose would be more 
 alive than the original." 
 
 "It deceives you. That's enough.*' 
 
 "No. No. There is no lie that can stand against 
 the truth!" 
 
 "Then didn't you understand what the baron said 
 just now?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. He is trying to mingle truth and false- 
 hood so much of one, so much of the other as you 
 need them. He answered himself because he told 
 us that we always find a logical explanation of what 
 we have already done." 
 
 The comtesse, passing, on Harle's arm, heard 
 enough to realize that the encounter was on, and 
 that Deschars had not had the advantage to begin 
 with. The time lost by Henri she had turned to 
 her gain. She was solidly established in Claudia's 
 friendship, seemed to the girl to be a guarantee of 
 independence, a support against the sometimes im- 
 perious demands of her father or the "wild ideas" 
 of her godfather. 
 
THE STRONGEST 137 
 
 "You are beautiful, intelligent, and rich," the 
 comtesse would tell her. "The world will belong to 
 you. You must be free to decide your own future. 
 What would be the use of all these endowments if 
 you couldn't take advantage of them yourself? 
 Will you choose to rule over the world, or to bury 
 yourself alive in a dream? That's your affair. 
 Your father and your 'uncle* are of different opin- 
 ions about it. You will bring them together simply 
 by following your own desires. They both of them 
 love you well enough to be on your side at the end. 
 La any case you can count on my friendship to help 
 you in everything." 
 
 These words bore fruit, and all the more because 
 she was a clever counsellor. She never imposed her 
 judgments. She limited herself to provoking ques- 
 tions; and her answers, although she professed in- 
 difference, were decisive. 
 
 While they were taking coffee in the conserva- 
 tory and Harle was describing his waterfalls and 
 electric lights, Deschars took the first opportunity 
 to tell Claudia that she would receive a case of Indian 
 cloths on the next day. Claudia was sorry that she 
 had vexed her uncle and took the occasion to make 
 peace. She held out her hand to Deschars and said: 
 
 "So you're not too angry at me for the silly things 
 I said?" 
 
 "They weren't silly. They were what everybody 
 says." ' 
 
138 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "That's the same thing." 
 
 "Not necessarily. It's quite possible that the sen- 
 timental ones are wrong." 
 
 "You don't believe that." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " I don't know what I believe. I'm a poor muddle- 
 head. Sometimes I talk against my own thoughts, 
 so as to get them clearer to myself. And all I do is 
 to make Uncle unhappy, and I love him and he loves 
 me more than I deserve." 
 
 "Your uncle knows you well. He knows that 
 your heart 
 
 "I tell you that I myself don't know. One time 
 or another everybody seems right my uncle or the 
 others." 
 
 "Perhaps we ought to take both sides?" 
 
 "Oh, then you aren't prejudiced against the world?" 
 
 "How can you be prejudiced against the society 
 of your own fellowmen?" 
 
 "Well, it appears to me that my uncle is condemn- 
 ing the whole universe. And it seems that the 
 pleasures of life drag me away far from him, while my 
 heart remains his." 
 
 "What do you call the pleasures of life?" 
 
 "I don't know. I have to live outside myself. 
 I am attracted to others when I want joy." 
 
 "Oh, well, that isn't bad. All we need to know is: 
 Who are the others?" 
 
 "Others? that's the world where I live, where I 
 
THE STRONGEST 139 
 
 have lived, and where I will live; those of my own 
 class, if I must say the word." 
 
 "That's the whole question: those of your own 
 class. That means twenty, or thirty, or maybe 
 fifty people whom you couldn't even name at one 
 time and for whose opinion you are going to live. 
 At bottom you don't think very much of them. No 
 matter! They have the same salons, the same 
 dresses, the same rules of living, the same conven- 
 tions of speech, the same surface tastes, and these 
 count more than anything else. But there is an- 
 other humanity besides." 
 
 "St. Vincent de Paul?" 
 
 "You don't have to go quite so far. Simple good- 
 ness isn't quite so extravagant as people say it is. 
 Besides, contact with our fellow creatures isn't al- 
 ways a matter of money. Your hand isn't empty 
 if it is offering friendship. There's an exchange of 
 hearts, too, by which we live a higher life than our 
 own. I have seen you being good to others. 
 Haven't you felt what you were getting by giving? 
 When you will be unhappy, who will console you if 
 you have never given consolation? who will love 
 you if you haven't loved?" 
 
 "To love is to suffer, Uncle says." 
 
 "Ah, yes. But he will also tell you that it is 
 to know the highest happiness. The egoist is 
 afraid to suffer and so loses his chance to be 
 happy." 
 
140 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "So, instead of arming ourselves, we ought to 
 surrender to sorrow?" 
 
 "Whoever is invulnerable under his armour will 
 not suffer, but he will not live. The briefest joy of 
 life pays for the longest-drawn-out misery." 
 
 "So again we have to decide for ourselves before 
 we're old enough to know." 
 
 Claudia was gay and charming all the evening and 
 Henri forgot the painful impression of the dinner. 
 I She gently drew him under a huge palm and there 
 kissed him with a full heart. 
 
 "Uncle, dear, will you forgive me again? I said 
 things that hurt you. But isn't it better for me to 
 talk wildly and foolishly than to keep down the 
 ideas I get from the world? they make me worry 
 about my future, too. When I speak the way I did 
 I want you to contradict me, that's why I speak. 
 And when I see how sad your eyes get, that does more 
 to bring me to my senses than anything you could 
 say." 
 
 "I haven't asked you to be anything but yourself, 
 dear." 
 
 "That's what's so hard, because the world wants 
 me to be It" 
 
 "Both of us can resist." 
 
 "Yes. But that's easier for you than for me. 
 You aren't tempted because you know everything 
 and everything attracts me because I want to know. 
 
THE STRONGEST 141 
 
 That's why you must be very indulgent, as you are. 
 Did you notice what a simple little gown I put on 
 just to please you to-night? I don't want to lose my 
 reward for that. To-morrow you're coming to Mor- 
 gan's with us and you'll underwrite every dress I buy. 
 Agreed?" 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 "Ah, an idea. To-morrow I'm going to get a box 
 of Indian material from M. Deschars. Suppose I 
 send them down to the shop and we'll ask him to be 
 there. What do you say? It'll be magnificent." 
 
 "Excellent. He'll be very glad." 
 
 "Fine. Come at four o'clock, and let Maurice 
 come at five. Now another kiss, the comtesse is 
 going." 
 
 The Comtesse de Fourchamps was leaving, know- 
 ing that the baron and the abbe were counting on a 
 conference with Harle. She hadn't missed anything 
 of Claudia's innocent tricks. She looked over at 
 Deschars and said to herself: "Go on, go on, my 
 child. I'll give you rope and rope and more rope, 
 until with my help you'll hang yourself." 
 
 The moment the three men were left alone the 
 abbe burst out: 
 
 "I have news from Rome. News giving " 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 THE day was a memorable one at Morgan's. 
 Precisely at ten, when Morgan superior, 
 calm came in, it was discovered that Me- 
 lanie, his premier mannequin, was absent and for 
 good. She had come up from the country, had 
 schooled herself and starved herself, insisting on 
 making herself an honest living. She had succeeded. 
 And now Morgan held in his hand this note: 
 
 MY DEAR M. MORGAN: 
 
 I have decided not to try on any more gowns at your 
 place except those I order for myself. I cannot forget 
 the services which we have rendered each other, so I will 
 come this afternoon to choose some models. 
 
 As ever yours, 
 
 MELANIE. 
 
 P. S. Possibly you owe me some money. Please distribute 
 it in my name, among the girls in the shop. 
 
 All morning the shop hummed and buzzed, and 
 Morgan had to appear again and again at the door 
 to demand order. It was nearly three o'clock, the 
 mannequins were trotting out in front of a delegation 
 
 142 
 
THE STRONGEST 143 
 
 of Chicagoans, when the name went up like an 
 electric shock "Melanie! she's come." 
 
 With a confident, modest step the young woman 
 made her way down the hall, smiling vaguely at the 
 admiring doorman with whom she had been friendly 
 but yesterday. Everywhere, at every curtain, from 
 carpet to ceiling, eyes followed her. They were 
 opened wide with malicious pleasure (for MelamVs 
 long adventure in the paths of righteousness had 
 not been popular), or with respect. Melanie did 
 not care : she greeted them as usual. She was dressed 
 in a blue tailor-made suit with a waistcoat of white 
 pique, prettily setting off the authority of her figure. 
 Her hat was a bit "sporty" but a white veil softened 
 the effect. She did not even wear a bracelet. The 
 good taste of the debutante was loudly approved. 
 
 "You can see she graduated here," said her com- 
 rades, very proudly. 
 
 Mile. Juliette, the f orelady, came to meet her, very 
 stiff and dignified. As Troy pressed upon the ram- 
 parts to see Hector and Achilles race around the 
 walls, so all the House of Morgan stood in silent, 
 closely packed ranks deserting the astonished 
 Americans, to attend the unheard-of event. Mile. 
 Juliette, with her discourse upon her lips, was within 
 three paces of Melanie when the latter, smiling 
 candidly, stepped aside and disclosed the Prince de 
 Luques, who was with her. Before Mile. Juliette 
 could recover from her surprise the prince, who was 
 
144 THE STRONGEST 
 
 not one to be stopped midway, saluted her as Louis 
 XIV might have greeted a maid on the back stairs at 
 Versailles, and stepped nobly with his companion into 
 the famous white Psyche room. 
 
 "Tell Morgan we're waiting for him, won't you?" 
 he said, casually. 
 
 And Morgan came. The Prince de Luques was 
 too valuable. He was one of the most thoroughly 
 ruined men in France, yet his expenses were magni- 
 ficent. He had, at the age of sixty, an all-powerful 
 reputation in the foreign colonies of Paris as the great 
 "introducer" to the salons of the French aristocracy. 
 And since he was pilot and adviser to millions he 
 could not prevent dressmakers and other shopkeepers 
 from being grateful to him. Morgan considered all 
 this. He considered the certainty that Melanie's 
 orders would never be paid for. But he came. And 
 when the Comtesse de Fourchamps came with 
 Claudia they had to wait for the master artist to 
 appear. 
 
 "Ah, madame," cried Juliette, as soon as they had 
 come in, "you could never guess what's happened. 
 I'm really in a dreadful state." Then, without giving 
 her noble client time to ask a question, she told her 
 in one gasp all thathad happened. 
 
 "Admirable!" cried the comtesse, radiantly. 
 "Can't we get a look?" 
 
 "Yes; presently, when they go out." 
 
 Morgan appeared. 
 
THE STRONGEST 145 
 
 "My compliments, Monsieur Morgan," announced 
 the comtesse, "the end of Melanie for you is as hon- 
 ourable as her beginning.'* 
 
 "It's quite Parisian/' said Morgan, thinking of the 
 contrast with the debut of the comtesse for whom he 
 had opened an unlimited credit account at once. 
 
 " Tell us that there's nothing behind it. Everyone 
 will think you arranged it on purpose." 
 
 "No. It happened, of itself; and that's what's 
 so beautiful!" 
 
 The fitting began. Claudia was a martyr, heroic- 
 ally adopting the stiff attitudes ordered by Morgan, 
 letting herself be pushed and twisted and turned. 
 And always the question: "Is that all right?" brought 
 back the answer: "Not yet." She flung her head 
 at the reply; and the mirror, instead of reflecting 
 the awaited perfect line, gave her back the image 
 of her pouting face and her nervous little yawns. 
 She grew weary of standing and urged the fitter to 
 hurry. "If I hurry it won't be any good," replied 
 the woman, calmly. And when it happened that 
 the comtesse and the fitter differed, Morgan was sent 
 for again, and Claudia had to stand still long mo- 
 ments until her critics were agreed. 
 
 While she did her duties conscientiously the com- 
 tesse watched the door. And when she heard the light 
 tapping of little feet followed by the dragging foot- 
 steps of the prince she raised the curtain and stood 
 in the embrasure with noble effrontery. Melanie 
 
146 THE STRONGEST 
 
 passed, putting the virtuously stiff comtesse com- 
 pletely out of countenance with her most innocent 
 smile. The prince, haughtily distrait, saw nothing, 
 his gaze lost in space. Claudia had leaned her 
 head on the comtesse's shoulder and received part of 
 Melanie's smile, to which she answered with a 
 mutinous shake of the head. 
 
 "WeH I don't see what's so wonderful hi that!" 
 she cried out. "She's swagger, that's all. That's 
 very good, too. Uncle says that frankness is the 
 highest virtue. He would be pleased with her dress, 
 which is much more discreet than mine." 
 
 "My dear child," said the comtesse, "M61anie 
 shows excellent tact in trying to atone for the extrav- 
 agance of her conduct by the simplicity of her dress. 
 You have nothing to conceal, so you can properly 
 pique curiosity with your frocks." 
 
 "That's what Uncle disapproves of; he calls them 
 provocative clothes. He says that in other years 
 young girls dressed simply and only women like 
 Melanie attracted attention with their clothes." 
 
 "Perhaps. In any case that's no longer the fash- 
 ion. Let the old dress old-fashioned. You, dear, 
 you be young." 
 
 "Well, and here Uncle's coming to dress me 
 like " 
 
 "Oh, come, Claudia, you're not going to let him 
 dress you like a nun?" 
 
 "I don't want to hurt him." 
 
THE STRONGEST 147 
 
 "Quite right. But you must understand that all 
 these things are just talk with him. Only another 
 way of regretting his youth. He would be desolate 
 if you obeyed him and would demand a bit of gaiety 
 at once. When he comes in, presently, we'll tell him 
 he's too late that your frocks have been sent down 
 to the sewing room. And then we'll distract his 
 attention with all those things that M. Deschars is 
 sending over." 
 
 "Yes. But when he sees " 
 
 "That's easy enough. You'll say: 'Look, Uncle, 
 see how I yielded to your wishes. I have stripped 
 off everything that could shock your Empire taste. 
 He'll laugh and believe that you really have sacri- 
 ficed a lot for him, so he'll pass the rest." 
 
 "Is that what you meant when you told Juliette 
 to scale up the colour scheme? " 
 
 "Exactly! A little souvenir of the impeccable 
 Mme. Recamier won't displease the marquis. Re- 
 member, she was interested in chimney-s weeps." 
 
 "Oh. So we dress for chimney-sweeps." 
 
 "For them and much more, for the rest of the 
 world. Our first law, my dear child, is to please. 
 And when you're twenty years old you want the 
 admiration of many. Why do you imagine you were 
 breaking your back in front of that mirror for two 
 hours? Was it for the futile pleasure of being 
 criticized by us, or was it in the hope of attaining a 
 perfection in your clothes which would make you 
 
148 THE STRONGEST 
 
 look just as you want to look? Don't you want to 
 be beautiful any more?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. As beautiful as possible." 
 
 "Well. Beauty is a conventional idea which 
 changes with tune and place. Your friend Deschars 
 will tell you that an Indian girl isn't considered 
 beautiful unless she has a silver ring in her nose. 
 Why shouldn't our artistic costumes be as respectable 
 as that? Let us amuse the eyes of our contempo- 
 raries so long as we can charm their hearts." 
 
 Juliette came back from another room with 
 Puymaufray. 
 
 "My dear marquis," cried the comtesse, "you're 
 late. Or perhaps we came too early. It works out 
 the same. Claudia couldn't stand all day with her 
 arms in the air. I promised to save her from your 
 displeasure. You must forgive me, not her. Be- 
 sides, we came down a lot from our extravagances 
 just to please you." 
 
 Claudia played her part perfectly. 
 
 "Madame," said the marquis, "it's the best thing 
 that could have happened. Undoubtedly my criti- 
 cism would have been stupid, because I am ignorant 
 of these things." 
 
 "The only criticism I accept is from experience. A 
 dress must dress you. What are all our frocks but a 
 concession to the infirmities of the masculine heart 
 which refuses to be content with a beautiful soul?" 
 
 "Ah, then why construct such elaborate dresses 
 
, THE STRONGEST 149 
 
 which no man can analyze? I am one of your ad- 
 mirers, and yet I couldn't say how you were dressed 
 yesterday." 
 
 "That's just why your criticism is worthless. I 
 told you, we dress up for women. However, in spite 
 of the weakness of your eyes, you know whether the 
 whole effect pleases you or not. What does it matter 
 whether you know why and wherefore, so long as we 
 know?" 
 
 "Didn't I tell you I'd say something stupid?" 
 
 "The object of art escapes you. All men are that 
 way." 
 
 "You will admit that a life passed in front of a 
 mirror exaggerates your personality and deforms it 
 by giving a false point of view. I wanted to save 
 Claudia from that disease." 
 
 "Are you sure that men don't array themselves 
 as carefully as we do? It's only a difference of 
 means; that's all." 
 
 Meantime the mannequins were coming in and 
 posing in various attitudes in front of the marquis 
 with an amusing air of saying : " Look at me." With 
 a brief word the comtesse gave her opinion or decided 
 what would not do. Claudia listened attentively, 
 try nag to fix things in her memory. When the seance 
 was over they were ready to admire the snowball 
 gown, and Deschars who had come was allowed to be 
 present. When the mannequin came in there was 
 a cry of wonder. Clusters of silk crystals on a field 
 
150 THE STRONGEST 
 
 of hoar-frost sown with icicles, and then feathery 
 puffs of white flakes from which emerged the triumph 
 of the flesh. 
 
 " A flower seen in a tempest,'* said Morgan. 
 
 The comtesse called the tall young girl with the 
 chestnut hair, and began moving her around as if 
 she had been an artificial model. With an obvious 
 contempt for the youthful beauty of the girl she 
 explained the changes which she had worked out. 
 
 "It seems a little confused to me. The theme 
 implies more unity. So I've taken out this whole 
 flounce. (.Around, please, miss.) My idea is a frozen 
 cascade from the shoulders down to the snowfall at 
 the feet. This hardly gives you the idea.*' 
 
 Puymaufray had to admit that the Snowball 
 would be a perfect masterpiece and Claudia noted 
 the word as a confession of defeat. Decidedly he 
 had not got the better of the comtesse. 
 
 Deschars announced that the trunk had been 
 opened in the Psyche room and Claudia led them 
 all in to see. 
 
 In truth it was a feast for the eyes. Brocades so 
 precious that the thought of their cost in human lif e 
 was stupefying; gauzes like sheets of light, colours of 
 flame in burning streaks; flashes of swords, spangles 
 of gold and silver dream flowers on purple back- 
 grounds, the seeds of spring on an azure field; magic. 
 Claudia, dazed, looked at them with open-mouthed 
 astonishment. 
 
THE STRONGEST 151 
 
 "Why, it's madness !" she said. "How could you 
 collect this treasure?" 
 
 "By thinking much of you," answered Maurice. 
 "Only the meeting and clashing of colours is worth 
 anything. You ought to see these things there in 
 the sun." 
 
 "Even in our fog there couldn't be anything more 
 wonderful. I don't know what to say. Papa will 
 let me accept them only because you are a childhood 
 friend." 
 
 "These things have no value except the patience 
 put in the work of collecting so many bits from every- 
 where." 
 
 "I'm grateful to you just the same. Uncle, you 
 aren't saying a word." 
 
 "I'm overcome; and displeased with Maurice for 
 spoiling you." The Comtesse de Fourchamps was 
 so fascinated by the dance of colours that her artistic 
 approval overcame her strategy. 
 
 "Mr. Traveller," she said, "you're to be compli- 
 mented without reserve. It's wonderful." 
 
 Then, to complete her eulogy, 
 
 "Geneva and Lyons are superior to everything. 
 But exoticism has the savour of the first moment, 
 it surprises the imagination. I'm absolutely daz- 
 zled." 
 
 Each piece was passed in review and admired. 
 Claudia's shining eyes, her wonder, her cries of joy 
 were the best reward for the young man. They 
 
152 THE STRONGEST 
 
 spent a charming hour draping the stuffs on a manne- 
 quin who had been summoned. 
 
 When Morgan was asked to give his opinion he 
 delivered a lecture. He explained that the aesthetics 
 of theJNorth alone asked a woman to show, at certain 
 times, her arms, her neck, and her shoulders, while 
 the dreamy Orient, with the imagination of a volup- 
 tuary, saw in a cloud of starry veils forms which could 
 be clothed in supreme perfection. They were two 
 conceptions of the art of concealing in order to reveal. 
 
 "Yes, but how can we make use of all this wealth? " 
 demanded the comtesse. "You can't get yourself 
 up like a dancing girl for a walk on the Bois." 
 
 "There's interior decoration," replied Morgan. 
 "Or a costume ball or tableaux vivants." 
 
 " Tableaux vivants 1" shouted Claudia, "that's the 
 idea! You always have some poor people to help. 
 You'll organize something, won't you? It'll be abso- 
 lutely unparalleled. We'll dazzle the whole world 
 and we'll do good at the same time. This time 
 you'll be pleased, won't you, Uncle?" 
 
 Henri assented silently. 
 
 A salesgirl came in to tell the comtesse that Mme. 
 du Peyrouard was in the next room and wanted to 
 come in to pass the time of day. 
 
 "What, Louise here? Ask Mme. du Peyrouard 
 to come in. M. Deschars, you don't mind showing 
 your Indian things to my friend?" 
 
 Maurice nodded. 
 
THE STRONGEST 153 
 
 Mme. du Peyrouard was the sister of Etienne 
 Montperrier the young deputy, a potential, Cabinet 
 member, whose eloquence had so often struck down 
 the opposition which always rose from its ashes. 
 
 They were the children of a lawyer from Limoges 
 who was known as a republican in the days of the 
 Empire. Proscribed, banished to Switzerland and 
 called back, the man of law had become a figure in 
 the opposition and would cheerfully have died for 
 the Republic if the people had wished it. Instead, 
 the people made him a senator, when the Republic 
 was established and later, when a coalition defeated 
 him, the Government made him a member of the 
 High Court. His daughter, Louise, was educated 
 at the convent of the Sacred Heart and, provided 
 with a small dowry, had married M. du Peyrouard, 
 an incompletely ruined gentleman who vegetated in 
 the lowest ranks of small administrative offices. 
 The protection of the senator quickly made him' an 
 inspector general and he passed his life conscien- 
 tiously watching the wasting of his budget in accor- 
 dance with the best rules of administration, firmly 
 convinced that he was rendering unheard-of services 
 to the army and to agriculture. 
 
 His wife, hardly pretty but fresh and lively, was 
 made for intrigue above all. She was very deep in 
 the official world, which is, under any regime, the 
 forefront of eternal greed, and was feared and loved 
 there. She dropped her lines everywhere, was mixed 
 
154 THE STRONGEST 
 
 up in everything, opened the way to some and barred 
 it to others, and would have it that her hand was 
 felt by all. She knew the private history of every- 
 one. She knew their needs, their appetites, their 
 weaknesses; to some she was sympathetic, even a 
 tempter if the need arose; but she was implacable 
 when she found herself hampered in working out 
 her plans. She was thirty-six, pious, body and soul 
 in the charitable work of the Church, protecting 
 religion against the heterodox, and storming in the 
 name of all those who had something to defend 
 against everything new. She did not love the Re- 
 public, but yielded to it under the persuasions of 
 the old Senator. 
 
 The convent had been an all-powerful aid to Mme. 
 da Peyrouard in her political career. She found, 
 like the Comtesse de Fourchamps, that friendships 
 made there were powerful levers, and neither of them 
 wasted her opportunities. The two women were 
 born to be friends. The moment they met there 
 was engendered a passionate and permanent en- 
 thusiasm which never faltered or was betrayed. 
 Mme. du Peyrouard carried her refinement to such an 
 extent that she allowed an adventure or two to be 
 imputed to her in order not to contrast too severely 
 with her friend, and the comtesse, who was not de- 
 ceived, was grateful to her for the consideration. 
 
 The ace in Mme. du Peyrouard's hand was her 
 brother, Etienne, a young deputy with a great future. 
 
THE STRONGEST 155 
 
 Although he was the older by two years, she had 
 helped him greatly with advice in the critical hour 
 of his parliamentary beginnings. She remained his 
 surest friend, his happiest inspiration, and the most 
 resourceful of his aids. 
 
 Etienne was marvellously endowed with the 
 faculties of memory and imitation and had rapidly 
 acquired the habit of mind of "successful men." 
 Under the lofty guidance of his father he had crowned 
 this work with the trick of fluent speech. His 
 aptitude for falling into the prescribed attitudes, his 
 art of yielding to all who could serve him, his happy 
 desire to please, and his studied application in order 
 to merit the applause of serviceable mediocrities, 
 made him the admired of all, even in his youth. 
 He excelled in all small things and led a cotillon 
 incomparably. 
 
 "Make sure of the women, 5 ' Louise advised him 
 again and again. 
 
 He did as he was told and, with patience, con- 
 quered widely. People said, "He will go far." 
 Nothing is so potent as are these words to insure a 
 man universal favour. 
 
 His father wanted him to begin modestly.^* One 
 day, when the ministry needed his vote, he bargained 
 for a sous-prefecture and the beginner left for Gas- 
 cony, where, under the prudent eye of his mother, he 
 could think about Tocqueville and Duvergier de 
 Hauranne while "looking after" his work. He 
 
156 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "looked after" it so well that, at the end of four 
 years, the deputy from that district found himself 
 scandalously unpopular and there was no other pos- 
 sible candidate except Etienne Montperrier himself. 
 
 To say that Etienne Montperrier was a deputy is 
 nothing. He was a deputy; the accredited dispenser 
 of governmental favours, of multicoloured ribbons 
 and lace; and, therefore, master of everything and 
 of everybody a feudal lord, and slave to his own 
 tyranny. In the Chamber of Deputies he recited 
 prettily some pieces that his father had composed 
 for him and ended with some of his own eloquence. 
 So-called independent journalists, looking into the 
 future and pleased at the chance to travel in good 
 company, wrote laudatory articles about him. They 
 laughed at them in private but the world accepted 
 the praise in good faith. 
 
 And so "the orator of youth" found himself chosen 
 by all right-thinking people ever suspicious of ex- 
 travagance of thought or of knowledge. The Com- 
 tesse de Fourchamps called him "the Bouguereau of 
 the Tribune," in superlative praise. He had a fine 
 presence; his elegance of dress, his deep blue eye, 
 and pointed black beard, were said to cause havoc. 
 He was almost mediocre in everything, but he bundled 
 his inferior fagots and achieved a kind of superiority; 
 he was good until his self-interest was involved, 
 sincere until he had to act, and daring to the limit 
 of audacity. He had the most enviable start of 
 
THE STRONGEST 157 
 
 any man; but it was the start of a useless thing, 
 fruitless, but worthy of attention as a precious ex- 
 ample of a collection of everything that was not true. 
 
 Such as he was, in the first rank of men looking 
 for profitable opinions, Montperrier found the right 
 road at his first trial and, without straying once from 
 the narrow path, enrolled himself instinctively on 
 the side of the strongest. However, he worked his 
 success, and made conditions when a place in the 
 Cabinet was mentioned. He knew that the import- 
 ant thing was to be "in with the Government." 
 The rest would come. He decided that he must 
 make a great marriage before he came into the 
 open. 
 
 "To-day," he would say ingenuously. "I am the 
 future. There is always a little loss in the present." 
 
 His sister discussed the matter with the comtesse 
 who had undertaken to sell Montperrier for all he 
 could fetch in the marriage market. Many proj- 
 ects were discussed and rejected one after the other, 
 and Etienne never had the bad taste to disagree with 
 his protectors. 
 
 A lively effort was made for Lucienne Preban. 
 But the countess was very soon convinced that the 
 girl had really given her heart to her moustached 
 Smyrnean. It was a shame to be stopped short by 
 such a stupid obstacle. However, the comtesse de- 
 cided that it would be even more stupid to insist, 
 so, after a consultation with Baron Oppert, came to 
 
158 THE STRONGEST 
 
 the conclusion that Claudia and Montperrier would 
 suit each other in every particular. 
 
 When the comtesse returned from Ste. Radegonde 
 she had come to an understanding with Mme. du Pey- 
 rouard that the two young people should be given 
 frequent occasions to meet each other. The en- 
 counter at Morgan's was not surprising. Etienne 
 had come with his sister, and the comtesse was very 
 happy to present the brilliant and grateful deputy 
 to the Marquis de Puymaufray, 
 
 After the usual compliments had been exchanged 
 they returned to the marvels of India and Mme. 
 du Peyrouard, assiduously attentive to Claudia, 
 wanted to see everything and to handle everything. 
 Montperrier devoted himself to winning the favour 
 of Puymaufray. 
 
 "I know, monsieur le marquis, that after fighting 
 nobly for your faith and for your country, you have 
 retired from the world to your estate in the midst of 
 the farmers to whom you are devoting your life. 
 That is an example of duty thoroughly done." 
 
 "I'm afraid you're far from the mark," answered 
 Puymaufray, who couldn't help smiling. "Have we 
 got to the point where a man can boast of simply 
 defending his country, as if there were something 
 extraordinary in that?'* 
 
 "Well spoken! Very few of us understand things 
 that way. You belong to the time when people did 
 things." 
 
THE STRONGEST 159 
 
 "Well, you can do things." 
 
 "Alas! All our good intentions seem paralyzed. 
 We need some powerful spirit, some powerful will, to 
 gather them and to make them act. Shall we find 
 such a man?" 
 
 "Doit. We'll see!" 
 
 "My generation hasn't had its day yet. I hope 
 it will come. But when? And how? What will 
 be demanded of us? Under all governments certain 
 conditions of order and progress remain. You de- 
 fended them with the sword. We have only the 
 pen and the spoken word to defend them from the 
 greed down below " 
 
 "From the greed up above." 
 
 "That's an aristocrat's joke. Don't you think 
 it's right for the few to be given social advantages, 
 as pay for the sacrifices that they make for the com- 
 mon good? That payment gives profit to every- 
 body because it eventually comes back to the masses." 
 
 "And it isn't our fault, I suppose, that we are 
 among the few? We have to be capable of devo- 
 tion to speak as you do." 
 
 "I want to serve my country; that is my only 
 ambition. France is easier to govern than people 
 imagine. Our whole mistake is not to trust more to 
 the good sense of the 'ignorant mass.' I dare to 
 speak to them and they applaud me. People say 
 you need courage to do that. That's exaggeration. 
 Ah 1 you need is confidence in the power of reason, 
 
160 THE STRONGEST 
 
 which is enough to put public spirit on its guard 
 against radicals. We're letting them attack us 
 without raising a hand. It's absurd. I defend my- 
 self, and if the occasion arises I hope to defend all 
 of us." 
 
 "That's very fine. I like best your 'us'. It's 
 clear that the possession of power has finally shown 
 you that the interests of all of the few are identical. 
 An end to generous illusions! 
 
 "That's the history of the leaders of the Third 
 Estate and even of the nobility, after the beautiful 
 dream of the Revolution. Even Montmorency 
 and La Rochefoucauld would have to admit the 
 danger of letting loose all sorts of mad hopes." 
 
 "Your ancestors are very fine, sir." 
 
 "Monsieur ,Montperrier," cried the comtesse, "I 
 won't let monsieur le marquis deprive us of the 
 pleasure of hearing your opinion about these mag- 
 nificent things from India. Your taste is so good. 
 Come, look at what can be done with a simple 
 thread of silk, and tell us what you think." 
 
 "It all seems wonderful to me," said Mont- 
 perrier, absently; and he turned to Deschars: 
 
 "You must have had a very wonderful voyage, 
 monsieur. In England I once saw some admirable 
 cloth that one of my friends, the Duke of Stamford, 
 brought back from India. Later I was told that 
 they were sent out to Delhi from Manchester and 
 Macclesfield." 
 
THE STRONGEST 161 
 
 "You couldn't fool anybody in India," answered 
 Maurice, quietly. 
 
 "I wouldn't be fooled," Claudia put in, hastily. 
 "We're thinking of organizing some tableaux vi- 
 vants and I count on you, Monsieur Montperrier, to 
 find us some subjects. M. Deschars, who holds 
 India in his hand as you hold the budget commis- 
 sion, is going to reconstruct some historic scene in 
 which we are to appear with peacocks and elephants 
 and tigers. You can choose a part for yourself." 
 
 "Among the animals?" 
 
 "No. I see you as some sonorous divinity with a 
 flaming head and arms all over, very long arms, as in 
 politics." 
 
 " You flatter me much, mademoiselle. I should be 
 content with the part of a slave, at your feet." 
 
 "You wouldn't do it at all well, I assure you." 
 
 "Has Morgan told you the story about Me- 
 lanie?" asked Mme. du Peyrouard, who thought 
 that her brother was not showing to advantage. 
 
 " I should say so," answered the comtesse. " Clau- 
 dia and I saw the prince's young victim pass, 161-' 
 lowed by the dragging footsteps known to all Paris. 
 I must say the girl looked very fine. Quite simple 
 and with the most natural air, neither proud nor 
 ashamed of what she had done.'* 
 
 "And why should she look otherwise?" asked 
 Montperrier. "It's destiny. She discovered it a 
 little later than the others. Or perhaps she thought 
 
162 THE STRONGEST 
 
 she would do better by delaying. In that case you 
 have to praise her business sagacity." 
 
 " I think you are hard," said Puymaufray. "Look 
 at these girls. They're chosen for their beauty. 
 They're made to please, and they're far more seduc- 
 tive than many of the patrons. You dress them the 
 richest way, and the choice of an hour for the patron 
 represents a year's wages to the mannequin. You 
 exhaust every resource to heighten the charm of their 
 youth and beauty. You bring them in front of a 
 mirror and make them pose, and even if they were 
 angels they couldn't help noticing that the gowns 
 fit them ravishingly. You handle them and turn 
 them round and round as if they were automatic 
 figures. And many a great lady who is irritated by 
 their charm takes every chance to show her scorn 
 for the 'inferior' creatures." 
 
 "Marquis, you are as moving as a preacher in his 
 pulpit," broke in the comtesse, touched to the quick. 
 
 "And then," continued Puymaufray, as if he had 
 not heard, "the thing turns, it feels that it is a 
 woman, and looks at the ugly, insolent creature. 
 They say to themselves. 'If she, why not I?' 
 Look where you will, there is no answer." 
 
 "There's the best answer in the world," replied 
 Montperrier. "It is that things are so 9 and can't be 
 otherwise." 
 
 "That's just the question, Mr. Politician. And if 
 your ancestors, and mine, for that matter, hadn't 
 
THE STRONGEST 163 
 
 said 'Things must be otherwise,' many of us wouldn't 
 be cutting so fine a figure now." 
 
 "Oh, well; let them rebel, then, as our fathers 
 did." 
 
 "That is what they are doing, with the only weap- 
 ons they have. Only it happens that now, as then, 
 the masters brand the rebel in the name of then- 
 own superior morality." 
 
 "Really," said the comtesse, chilled by the mar- 
 quis's sermons, "what's the use of discussing what 
 the world might be like? It is what it is, as M. 
 Montperrier so wisely said just now. It is a great 
 argument. Can't we quietly enjoy what has been 
 given to us without worrying ourselves with impious 
 recriminations? They are impious because Provi- 
 dence, I think, has arranged everything for the 
 best!" 
 
 "Morgan says that his mannequins have a mania 
 for greatness," remarked Claudia. "I'm not sur- 
 prised that they want to change places and I'm as 
 sorry for them as you are, Uncle. But whatever the 
 excuse, their shame contrasts with the virtue of 
 others, even if virtue comes easy to us." 
 
 "Undoubtedly, my dear. I'm not offering you 
 Melanie as an example. However, if you could 
 understand how much is meant when we say Us." 
 
 "But anyhow it's true that we are of one world; 
 and these women, with or without their Princes de 
 Luques, are of another. What have we in common? 
 
164 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Much perhaps by birth; nothing by social necessity. 
 Could things be better arranged? I have neither 
 the time nor the means to find out. I go on." 
 
 "But at Ste. Radegonde ?" 
 
 "What can I do here?" 
 
 "I agree with Mile. Harle," said Montperrier, 
 "that you have to choose between philosophizing 
 and living." 
 
 "And in order to live, lose all interest in life," 
 answered Puymaufray, quoting. 
 
 "I swear we're very emotional about Melanie," 
 said the countess. "Prince de Luques's pretty 
 little mannequin would have a good laugh if she 
 could hear us. Gentlemen, let us not go into the 
 clouds. There's the Church for that, and we share 
 its merits because we are the Church." 
 
 "So," replied Henri, "all the joys of earth and 
 heaven are thrown into the bargain." 
 
 "We can hardly do with less," said the comtesse, 
 proudly. "Can we, Claudia?" 
 
 "I hold fast to to-day and I want to get everything 
 out of it," said Claudia. "It was one of the ancients 
 that said that, too," she threw out at Henri. 
 
 "Beaten with your own weapons!" cried the com- 
 tesse. 
 
 "Apparently I am wrong, madame. It's wrong 
 to try to put old thoughts into young heads. If I 
 were Claudia's age I wouldn't worry about to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
THE STRONGEST 165 
 
 "Most nobly surrendered. I'm going to make 
 Luques tell me the true story of M&anie and you'll 
 see there's no occasion for shedding tears. In the 
 first place, it's useless; and then, remember, Claudia, 
 that crying gives you wrinkles." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 'HT^HE committee for the Old and Incorrigible 
 met that evening at the home of the president, 
 Mme. la Comtesse de Fourchamps. Abbe 
 Nathaniel had time, after twenty charitable enter- 
 prises, to receive tattered men and women, old offend- 
 ers in misery, at the gates of prisons and the doors 
 of hovels. He nourished them with soup and holy 
 words. By suitable sermons he brought them back 
 to decency, that is to regret sincerely that they had 
 ever strayed from the path on which they might have 
 found tranquillity of body and peace of mind in the 
 satisfaction of their diverse needs. After that they 
 died, edified, and edifying, and made place for others. 
 For the Old and Incorrigible, and for two dozen 
 other charities, the abbe begged and collected and 
 gave with generous hands. Under his catholic faith 
 the blood of Israel spoke marvellously. He bought 
 lands and sold; made and unmade plans; constructed, 
 built, speculated always on the lookout for some 
 bargain for his poor. He had the double virtue of 
 attracting gold and coining it under his own eyes. 
 Baron Oppert, whom ostentation made as generous 
 as the poor, was not enough. The abbe's agricul- 
 
 168 
 
THE STRONGEST 167 
 
 tural colony in Algeria had been swept by locusts 
 and was in need of help. The baron, when con- 
 sulted, said that something must be arranged. With 
 that recommendation Abbe Nathaniel betook him- 
 self to the comtesse. 
 
 "Charity sales are terribly overdone," she re- 
 marked. "We've got to freshen it up somehow, 
 because it still is the best way to drag money out of 
 reluctant givers. You see, abbe, you can't get peo- 
 ple to climb the road to heaven unless you strew the 
 path with some of the seductions of the Tempter." 
 
 "You know the weakness of the human heart, 
 madame." 
 
 The comtesse made an untranslatable gesture 
 which might have meant : " There's reason enough.'* 
 
 "Listen," she said. "You'll begin as usual by 
 getting some of the surplus stock at the big stores." 
 
 "I've done that so often!" 
 
 "Do it again. You'll always get them. Mutual 
 aid, you know. Think how much commerce gains 
 from the propaganda of the Church." 
 
 "Oh, commerce is complaining now that we're 
 a rival." 
 
 "And it's not so far from right. Yesterday at the 
 Madeleine I got a little religious book in which I 
 found an advertisement for the beer of the Trappist 
 Fathers." 
 
 " The misfortune of this age. The profane and the 
 holy should aid each other." 
 
168 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "That's exactly what you must say in the stores. 
 And when you've made your collection, I will take 
 care of the rest." 
 
 "Madame, you are my guardian angel on earth." 
 
 "Because I expect you to be mine in heaven, my 
 dear abbeV' 
 
 It was as result of this conversation that the com- 
 mittee was meeting, with Mme. du Peyrouard as 
 vice-president and Claudia as secretary. 
 
 Harle had come with his daughter and with Puy- 
 maufray. Oppert and the abbe had both been 
 summoned. The abbe reported that the goods for 
 the sale were collected; the baron gave equally good 
 news on the subject of booths and decorations. And 
 while the ladies discussed the assignment of booths 
 the men sat in an adjoining room and talked. 
 
 "It is certain," the abbe was saying, "that society 
 is divinely organized. Just as we fail to appreciate 
 the daily benefits of health, so we are not sufficiently 
 grateful for the advantages we gain from the social 
 order, in which the hand of the Infinite Goodness 
 can be seen. Property, the security of person and 
 goods, the guarantees of impartial justice, the liberty 
 of what is good made up for in this unhappy time, 
 alas! by the license of things that are evil the de- 
 velopment of noble enterprises by the Church, these 
 are really admirable features of a divine plan." 
 
 "There are shadows," murmured Puymaufray. 
 
 "Undoubtedly. But that is where religion enters 
 
THE STRONGEST 169 
 
 to make everything right again. The trial of misery 
 decreed by providence has for balance the marvels of 
 charity." 
 
 "Look at the abbe's work,'* said Oppert. ** Lis- 
 ten to these women worrying themselves in order to do 
 good to others." 
 
 "I admit that there is beauty in the world, although 
 I understand it another way," answered Puymaufray. 
 Only I am afraid to think what becomes of your 
 humility when it sets out to compensate the evils 
 decreed by Divine Goodness." 
 
 "What about the work in there?" 
 
 "Full of good intentions. I am the last one to 
 discourage human pity which sometimes finds its 
 way into our hearts. There are beautiful impulses 
 in men of all ranks, from those most corrupted by 
 poverty to those most corrupted by wealth. But 
 in the immensity of evil how disproportionate is our 
 aid to what we might give. I listen to these women 
 because I'm urged to. And you can judge for your- 
 self how well their sacrifices for charity go with their 
 own pleasure." 
 
 "That's a good text for a sermon; it's easy to see 
 that you served the Pope. You remind me of Father 
 Anselm: 'Tremble, women of the world' " 
 
 "Then they don't tremble at all. Just listen." 
 
 "We must excuse the infirmities of human nature. 
 A good deed is a good deed, none the less." 
 
 "And besides, religion isn't the only thing. There's 
 
170 THE STRONGEST 
 
 ourselves," Harle proclaimed, emphatically. "Social 
 authority. The strongest, who are the best. Every- 
 thing that increases our power increases the happiness 
 of the world, for as we grow more powerful we civilize, 
 like conquerors." 
 
 "Yes, you do show some eagerness to conquer," 
 said Henri. 
 
 "And that's best for everyone." 
 
 "You say so, at any rate." 
 
 "I prove it. You never have asked me about my 
 great scheme, which I am now working on, together 
 with the baron and the abbe. It's no longer a secret, 
 because in a month we'll be before the public." 
 
 "I don't doubt that it will be well conceived and 
 methodically executed." 
 
 "It's extraordinarily simple. I'm becoming a 
 journalist." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You're astonished? The# follow my line of 
 thought. I make paper. I get my sheets from 
 Norway and Austria, which have the raw material 
 and the water for motor power. Austria is a more 
 industrial country and carries the process a step 
 further. But both countries stop midway and I 
 have to take up the work where they leave it. That's 
 a loss of power and of time. But when I make my 
 paper what do I do with it? I hand it over for 
 other people to destroy its original whiteness with 
 print. They sell it at a good price. My product is 
 
THE STRONGEST 171 
 
 their raw material just as Norway's product is mine. 
 But why shouldn't I complete my work? Why let 
 someone else blacken my sheets and get the profit? 
 This writing industry is only recently organized 
 it's only beginning to walk. As usual, the begin- 
 ning is anarchy. Someone must come to group all 
 these attempts, to organize and coordinate the work, 
 for the greatest possible result. So I've studied this 
 curious business thoroughly gone to the bottom of 
 it. It's strange it should have been neglected until 
 now by the great organizers, for, all things considered, 
 it is the thing that makes humanity act. Certainly, 
 Henri, you never have seen the commercial possibili- 
 ties of thought." 
 
 "I don't even know what you mean by it." 
 
 "I'm not surprised. Listen a little longer. Writ- 
 ing isn't enough. You have to be read. Suppose 
 you wrote the profoundest thing in the world; the 
 secret of the universe, for example. Send it to the 
 library. Who can read it? Not even the greatest 
 minds. Or write the last word on science. Half a 
 dozen academicians will be able to understand. 
 That's better than the first attempt. But I'm afraid 
 you'll find it won't pay enough." 
 
 "What ar you driving at?" 
 
 "At this: the lower you come down, the more 
 numerous your readers. You see, instead of trying 
 to impose my opinions on others, like all the pro- 
 fessional writers, I am going to give the product that 
 
172 THE STRONGEST 
 
 will please the greatest number. That's the method 
 in industry. I don't make the kind of paper I choose, 
 but the kind I can sell. And the economic law must 
 hold for printed paper as well as for white paper. 
 The largest clientele that's the masses will al- 
 ways buy printed paper if it's suitable to their 
 tastes." 
 
 "Yes. It has already been remarked that papers 
 are edited by their readers." 
 
 "The man who said that was no fool. Come 
 down with me into the crowd and you'll see that you 
 must lower the quality of your thought in proportion 
 as you get deeper into intellectual densities. Try to 
 awaken a curiosity, but always feed it with suitable 
 food. I'm not saying anything against the pictures 
 at the Louvre. They are very fine things in their 
 way. But what can the masses make of them? 
 They pass by indifferent and run to a chromo 
 bath scene." 
 
 "So, if I understand it, you're going to exploit the 
 rubbish of thought." 
 
 "Not thought at all, as you use the word. Facts. 
 Doctrine is the Church's business. People will turn 
 to the catechism for the last word without my telling 
 them. Perhaps you'll say that human vanity is so 
 great that even the most ignorant must have ideas. 
 There are, in fact, certain ancient ideas which those 
 who have gone ahead call prejudices. Time has made 
 them useful in the conduct of life. I will respect 
 
THE STRONGEST 173 
 
 them, I swear. I will give my readers ideas, accepted 
 ideas; the ideas that have made the world what it is 
 and must keep it so." 
 
 "Your work will be in vain. In spite of you, your 
 writer will escape, and in the welter of stupidity you 
 will find a word which will be the seed of the future." 
 
 "Writer? Who's that? I don't need a writer. 
 I don't know that specimen of man. If there are 
 visionaries who want to write books let those read 
 'em that like 'em. I need only schemes and that's 
 where I'm progressive." 
 
 "Decidedly you're right. It is the writing busi- 
 ness, as you call it." 
 
 "Ah, you understand me at last. I'm leaving 
 aside the relations between print and publicity in all 
 sorts of affairs, good and bad. We progress in that 
 line, too." 
 
 "You were trying to prove, a few moments ago, 
 that your aggrandizement would be a benefit to 
 everyone. And all you are showing me is one in- 
 dustry adding itself to another." 
 
 "I am not done yet. Selling my printed paper, 
 which is made like every other piece of goods for the 
 maximum market, is good. But the significance of 
 what is written, of the facts disclosed and inter- 
 preted, the daily commentaries adapted to the rather 
 low state of public sentiment, all this moves the 
 changeable crowd, determines opinion, the sovereign 
 of the day, not by violating its spirit, as presumptuous 
 
174. THE STRONGEST 
 
 radicals try to do, but by accommodating itself to 
 the ancient habits of thought and by extracting from 
 it all possible advantage." 
 
 "In other words, accepted ideas, fundamentally 
 what we see every day, appear to you to be a better 
 field of exploitation than the need for new ideas that 
 make for better deeds." 
 
 "The question is higher than that, monsieur," 
 interrupted the baron who was fidgeting in his chair. 
 "The thing that struck me in Harle's venture is 
 that it is adequate in view of the actual principle 
 by which men are governed. The problem is no 
 longer how to affect the will of a monarch whose will 
 carries the crowd. To-day we are bound to act 
 upon the hydra-headed monster itself, by sugges- 
 tions not by ideas (that would be madness) and 
 by sentiments acceptable to the crowd. That 
 seems risky, doesn't it? Well, it's simplicity itself, 
 when once you realize that the great movements of 
 public spirit are of short duration, while the common 
 sentiments of all humanity which are moderate 
 and I would almost say mediocre become the in- 
 struments for sure and durable things. The con- 
 servative is timid by nature and dares not attack 
 the masses because he doesn't know what to say to 
 them. He stupidly bemoans the spirit of his time 
 and wastes himself trying to revive a dead past. 
 The radical holds marvellous shining pictures 
 before the eyes of the masses, draws them along with 
 
THE STRONGEST 175 
 
 him, and scatters ruin and confusion. Well, we will 
 now go to the masses ourselves. We will generously 
 come down to them. We shall be able to profit 
 by the prime lesson of the Revolution, which made 
 the mistake of making the greatest number the 
 principle of action whereas the greatest number 
 can only be an agent, because of the solidarity of 
 permanent common interests an agent of conser- 
 vatism itself." 
 
 "That's a curious idea." 
 
 "It is not an idea. It is the statement of a law of 
 social mechanics. Universal suffrage, which people 
 stupidly are afraid of, is the prime force of inertia. 
 For twenty years our politicians have been awaiting 
 movement, an impulse to move; look at the result. 
 Action, in movement or thought, comes from the 
 individual, from the man who is different from his 
 fellowmen. The crowd is the resistance which he 
 must overcome. The crowd is like the treetop 
 it lives by its roots. If you want to affect a whole 
 forest at once you go to the roots. The great social 
 merit of M. Harle's scheme is that he aims for the 
 roots. That's where Archimedes wanted to put his 
 lever. Applied there, it can move the world." 
 
 "And what about the branches and flowers and 
 fruits? What about the liberty of the treetops, 
 baron?" 
 
 "They used to chop off the particularly flourishing 
 twigs when they grew too fast." 
 
176 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "And you are afraid of the liberty of life?" 
 "Say of the savagery of life, marquis. Who knows 
 the value of liberty more than I? It's a precious 
 plant you've got to fertilize with gold do not pro- 
 test; with gold, I say in order to kill license at the 
 source. Always you must act at the root Harle's 
 principle. Thinkers, as people say, are at liberty to 
 write for a half dozen of their contemporaries. They 
 have centuries in which to change the world. But 
 we are men of to-day, we are. The liberty we need 
 is the liberty of enlightened minds who are in the 
 employ of the strongest and deduce from our acts a 
 fitting philosophy. I assure you that that liberty 
 will not suffer at our hands." 
 
 "And what about democratic government?" 
 "It's only a reduction of the crowd. The law 
 does not change. If you want to move the crowd, 
 look for these feelings which are common to all 
 people, and if you want to enlarge your sphere of 
 action, bring down the methods to the lowest level. 
 That is a law of the world. That explains Harle. 
 When he wanted to extend an industry based on the 
 expression of thought, the power of man over man, 
 he was naturally led to the industrial formula of 
 government itself." 
 
 "That's it," said Harle. "The government of the 
 strongest which always has been and always will be, 
 under different names. I think it's something to 
 industrialize the diffusion of thought, the sovereignty 
 
THE STRONGEST 177 
 
 of opinion, to make it bring in the greatest profit to 
 the few and, through the few, to all." 
 
 "In short, you are reducing government to the 
 condition of an industry in which you are the over- 
 seer." 
 
 " That's too simple a way of looking at it. Surely, 
 the more you organize government on industrial 
 lines the less waste of energy there will be, the less 
 scattering of power. But what makes the factory 
 easy for us is that we always have the upper hand 
 over the men and no matter what happens we have 
 the last word. The problem of government is harder 
 because out of the confusion of the weak we have to 
 formulate the will of the strong. Guizot himself 
 thought that was impossible. I am going to prove 
 practically how much you can get out of the masses 
 if you enter into its spirit and speak its language. 
 Let the politicians follow me and back me up if they 
 want to, in order to take advantage of the crowd." 
 
 "In short, you are an overseer as I said." 
 
 "If you're talking of vulgar profit, that's a trifling 
 consideration with me. I consider it only as a just 
 reward for the work of my intelligence, and I judge 
 my success by it. But what is that in comparison 
 with the benevolent glory of a master who leads his 
 country, in peace and in war, to the destiny shaped 
 by Providence?" 
 
 "That is all that our Pope requires," said the abbe. 
 "He understands the needs of modern society and 
 
178 THE STRONGEST 
 
 tries to speak directly to the masses, not to the 
 feeble governments of a day, without courage and 
 without authority. M. Harle expressed it very well 
 just now. Let those who need doctrine come to us, 
 the guardians of the everlasting fountain." 
 
 "There's the demand for new things, which you're 
 not counting on at all," said Puymaufray. 
 
 "Man's pleasure is to change things," said Oppert. 
 "His necessity is to conserve. There is only one 
 way to reconcile this contradiction. That is to put 
 new names on the old things. The masses are satis- 
 fied with that." 
 
 "That's a good lesson in politics, "said Puymaufray. 
 "I won't argue about it. I marvel at it. I am only 
 sorry that, according to your own confession, you 
 are in a position to affect only the lowest feelings of 
 humanity." 
 
 "You are misconstruing the sense of my words," 
 said Harle. "We are talking about the fundamen- 
 tal feelings, the feelings common to everybody, 
 which are only lower in the metaphorical sense 
 of the word, because everything else is based upon 
 them." 
 
 "But you are not basing anything on them." 
 
 ''Because the work is already done. The Church 
 has said the first and last word of life. We have 
 nothing to seek. We must preserve. You know 
 the innovators always bring a confusion of contra- 
 dictory propositions. The Church has unity, the 
 
THE STRONGEST 179 
 
 authority of eighteen centuries. It is Force. There 
 is nothing else to say." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the countess, coming in fol- 
 lowed by the committee, "we shall soon be ready to 
 open our bazaar in the house of Monsieur le baron 
 Oppert. In order to give the affair a new twist we 
 have decided to send out tickets, to a chosen few, for 
 some tableaux vivants which will be presented in the 
 home of M. Harle. I hope, monsieur abbe, that 
 the tableaux vivants will please you, because you will 
 know in advance by what feelings they are prompted." 
 
 "Surely, madame. You can take scenes from the 
 Bible or from the lives of the Saints." 
 
 "We thought of that. But the field has been 
 pnetty thoroughly gleaned. Couldn't we join the 
 sacred and the profane?" 
 
 "Why not?" answered the abbe. "If you avoid 
 anything shocking." 
 
 "That's the difficulty. In order to utilize his 
 Indian things, M. Deschars has proposed to repre- 
 sent some scenes from the life of Buddha. Isn't 
 he a false god?" 
 
 "Many pagans, notably the Chinese, worship him 
 as divine. There are dangers in that." 
 
 "We need a lot of money, Father, and I must tell 
 you that M. Deschars's tableaux would be the hit of 
 the evening." 
 
 "You make me reconsider, madame. As a matter 
 of fact this Buddha was a very modest and a very 
 
180 THE STRONGEST 
 
 good man who arrived on earth many centuries 
 before Our Lord and neverthless had some gleams of 
 the future truth." 
 
 "A forerunner, then?" 
 
 "I wouldn't say that. Because he was plunged 
 into an abyss of errors, in accordance with his time. 
 Nonetheless, he was son of a king and preached re- 
 nunciation of the world, austerity of life, poverty, 
 and control of the appetites. He even set an ex- 
 ample of these things." 
 
 "But that's very fine." 
 
 "Hasn't the Church preserved certain Indian cere- 
 monies?" asked Puymaufray. 
 
 "Just what I said; these people had their flashes." 
 
 "In that case we cannot offend religion by repre- 
 senting certain features of history in which the 
 Church was not concerned," said the countess. 
 
 "Not at all, surely." 
 
 "You relieve me of a great doubt, my dear abbe. 
 Now I can answer for our success." 
 
 "Well, Claudia, you are silent," said Puymaufray. 
 "I'm sure you're thinking of the king's son who 
 preached renouncing the world." 
 
 "At this moment, Uncle, I am wondering how we 
 could make interesting tableaux out of such an ex- 
 cess of virtue." 
 
 "You aren't thinking of a vision of austerity." 
 
 "Well, you don't need cloth of gold for that." 
 
 "It is not forbidden," said the abbe, "to reconcile 
 
THE STRONGEST 181 
 
 moral beauty with art in order to edify some and 
 console others." 
 
 "It's absolutely necessary," said the countess, "in 
 order that the poor rich can win salvation at the 
 same time as the happy poor." 
 
 "Then let's win salvation together," said Puy- 
 maufray. "We'll always have the consolation of 
 having enjoyed the good things of earth." 
 
 "Which are not to be sneered at," remarked Clau- 
 dia. "M. Deschars ought to show us a sublimity 
 which adapts itself to our weaknesses." 
 
 "Never mind, dear," the countess assured her, 
 "we aren't going to dress you as a beggar girl. If 
 you wish it we'll ask M. Montperrier to talk things 
 over with the abbe and choose the subjects. M. 
 Montperrier, who is very talented, excels in theat- 
 ricals. If Mme. du Peyrouard asks him, he'll help 
 
 us." 
 
 "If I ask him he'll find a hundred pretexts to 
 squirm out. But a word from you, dear Countess, 
 or from Mile. Harle, and he'll accept." 
 
 "Good. I'll ask him to come to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 W'HEN Mme. du Peyrouard and Montperrier 
 arrived the next day they found Claudia 
 already busy ordering flowers for the ba- 
 zaar. The young politician was very zealous, but he 
 mentioned some serious business which did not leave 
 him free to dispose of his time. That was not all. 
 He was being reproached for his worldliness. His 
 enemies, his jealous friends, taxed him with being 
 frivolous. He laughed at them. But those whom 
 he led and who took it on themselves to arrange his 
 life, complained that he was too contemptuous of 
 stupid criticism. What wouldn't people say when 
 they heard that he was organizing tableaux vivants f 
 They always managed to get something mean to 
 say against him. He was even reproached for 
 going to salons which led to the Academy, as if he 
 could be thinking of a candidacy already. He was 
 undisturbed by this gossip, but politics made him 
 pay dearly for his independence. 
 
 "I see, my dear girl, that you'll have to plead with 
 M. Montperrier yourself," said the countess. " Other- 
 wise I'm beaten." 
 
 "I couldn't take the responsibility," answered 
 
 182 
 
THE STRONGEST 183 
 
 Claudia. "After what we've just heard it would be 
 cruel for us to enlist M. Montperrier in such a dan- 
 gerous adventure." 
 
 "Your wishes would be enough, mademoiselle," 
 said Montperrier, bowing. "Your mockery is more 
 than enough. I am at your orders." 
 
 "Perhaps you will regret it." 
 
 "If my services please you, then I am paid in 
 advance for my trouble." 
 
 Deschars came in at these words and was dis- 
 agreeably struck by the tone of self-confidence in 
 the trifling conversation. 
 
 "Here you are at last," cried the countess, "we've 
 been waiting for you. I've already discovered that 
 your Buddha isn't a false god, as I feared. Abbe 
 Nathaniel was very literal. He has allowed us to 
 represent scenes from the life of your prophet so 
 long as they don't seem to interfere with the teachings 
 of the Church." 
 
 "I wouldn't have thought of proposing such a 
 thing, madame." 
 
 "The abbe, who knows everything, says that 
 Buddha was son of a king and became a beggar or 
 something like that." 
 
 "Quite, madame." 
 
 "We've been admiring that feature of it. You 
 aren't afraid of making it a fad among the families 
 that aspire to the presidency?" 
 
 "No; nor in any other families." 
 
184 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "That's what I think. So we'll take the chance. 
 Now tell us the legend and above all don't dress Mile. 
 Harle like a beggar. She seemed gravely worried 
 about that yesterday and I had to reassure her. 
 Don't you think, Claudia, that two scenes will be 
 enough for India? Piety must dominate the tab- 
 leaux. We owe that much to the sentiments that 
 inspire pur work." 
 
 "I think two tableaux will be enough. The re- 
 ligious scenes will be simpler to do." 
 
 "But, mademoiselle," said Montperrier, "suppose 
 I ask you to put on the visit of the Queen of Sheba 
 to Solomon?" 
 
 "Oh, that's a lovely idea," cried Claudia. "We 
 can show the splendours of the Orient in it, too." 
 
 "Decidedly, Monsieur Montperrier, you are indis- 
 pensable, " said the countess. " I'm sure you'll do us 
 a marvellous setting. All right now, Monsieur 
 Deschars, we're waiting for Buddha." 
 
 "Certainly. I will give you only two scenes, as 
 you wish. The departure of the prince, when he 
 leaves the royal palace to preach renunciation of the 
 world; and then the scene of his temptation under the 
 Tree of Knowledge." 
 
 "Explain that." 
 
 "Oh, I don't want to give you a lecture and we 
 needn't conform strictly to the legend. The prince, 
 Siddhartha, never went out of the palace of the King 
 Kapilavastu, his father. . . ." 
 
THE STRONGEST 185 
 
 "Do you insist upon those names?" 
 
 "Oh, no! They aren't important because there 
 are no words in the tableau." 
 
 "Well, perhaps we can have a footnote on the pro- 
 gramme; but that will discourage people." 
 
 "Then perhaps we'd better not have a footnote." 
 
 "Well, if those names are examples, perhaps not. 
 All the same, tell us the story." 
 
 "Well, the books say that when he left the palace 
 in his carriage he met in succession an old man in the 
 last stages of exhaustion, a sick man, and a dead 
 
 man." 
 
 "Heavens!" cried Claudia. "You're not going to 
 show that!" 
 
 "No, mademoiselle. Please, let me finish. Later, 
 a religious mendicant came up. . . ." 
 
 "What, were there mendicant orders in those 
 days?" asked the countess. 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "Good. I see the story. The prince wanted to 
 enter the order. I told the abbe. He is a forerun- 
 
 ner." 
 
 "You have guessed it, madame. He conceives 
 the idea of teaching people to overcome weakness, 
 illness, death, all the miseries of mankind." 
 
 "By contemplating eternal things. I know the 
 rest. He sinks himself in God. It's admirable. 
 Only your story isn't new. There's the story of St. 
 Francis of Assisi." 
 
186 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Two thousand years later." 
 
 "What's the difference to usP" 
 
 "Yes, but," said Claudia, "if we do St. Francis of 
 Assisi, where do these Indian things come in?" 
 
 "That settles it, dear child. Let's get on with 
 Buddha. I see the tableau. The prince is in his 
 carriage. The whole court is at the walls. The 
 women are lamenting, and show their regret with 
 appropriate gestures. The old man and the sick 
 man and the beggar give the effect of contrast. Noth- 
 ing could be more moral. Your tableau can pass. 
 And the other?" 
 
 "The other is quite simple. It is the temptation 
 under the Tree of Knowledge." 
 
 "You're sure it isn't a parody of our sacred Book?" 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "There's no serpent?" 
 
 "No, no! Buddha is tempted by the daughters 
 of the demon Papiyan." 
 
 "And what do these young women do?" 
 
 "They express by their poses." 
 
 "Oh, yes. Very good. I hope the prince resists." 
 
 "If he didn't, madame, I wouldn't speak of him 
 to you." 
 
 "The second picture can be utterly charming, and 
 it teaches absolutely exemplary morals. All the 
 advantages combined. My compliments. It won't 
 be better than the Queen of Sheba because you can't 
 get ahead of M. Montperrier. But it will be very 
 
THE STRONGEST 187 
 
 good. Now, gentlemen, you must bring us some 
 sketches in about three days and we'll go over them. 
 Then we'll choose our artists and we'll go on to the 
 serious question of the costumes while you get the 
 scenery." 
 
 "That's decided, then," said Montperrier. "I'll 
 see Wilfrid Leigh. They say his religious paintings 
 are too modern. So he'll suit us exactly. Our 
 Queen of Sheba must be of the world." 
 
 "And I'll go into the Guimet Museum and con- 
 sult some portfolios." 
 
 "I beg you not to be too exact. We must have 
 fantasy. Your India must be suitable to the taste 
 of Paris, sir." 
 
 Deschars admired the skill of the countess in put- 
 ting him in an unfavourable light while seeming to 
 be perfectly friendly. He felt the effects she created, 
 but was helpless. Vexed and awkward, he let him- 
 self be monopolized by his beautiful enemy while 
 Montperrier developed his ideas to Claudia and 
 conferred with her on the disposition of cloths or 
 flowers, discussed the Queen of Sheba tableau, and 
 suggested the representation of the "Marriage at 
 Cana" after Veronese. 
 
 "I'm a fool," thought Deschars. He was simply 
 in love too sincerely affected to be able to play a 
 game. Montperrier's rushing shocked him the more 
 because it seemed to please Claudia. The Comtesse 
 de Fourchamps cruelly dealt him the final blow. 
 
188 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Claudia, dearest child," she cried, "y u mustn't 
 monopolize M. Montperrier. We all need to hear 
 his opinions, and I can see by M. Deschars's eyes that 
 he wants to ask him some questions." 
 
 (Montperrier excused himself with graceful im- 
 pertinence. But in that moment Deschars saw the 
 enterprise revealed. Montperrier was a suitor for 
 Claudia's hand, and the countess was conducting the 
 intrigue. The unhappy man trembled. Before his 
 eyes, under the mocking insult of smiling lips, passed 
 the vision of complete catastrophe: the triumph of 
 the world over a love that had only truth on its side. 
 He saw Claudia hesitating at the cross-roads and was 
 terror-stricken by the irresistible force of his enemies. 
 Yet he loved and, therefore wished to believe. He 
 put spurs to his sorrow and joined battle at once.) 
 
 "Oh, yes. I need your priceless advice to make 
 India fashionable in Paris." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't much. I'd need you much more at 
 Delhi. We're all Parisians here." 
 
 "If I dared, I'd say you were right. Paris isn't 
 very great when you come from the wide world." 
 
 "We lack the gilded banks of the Ganges, and 
 the burning skies, and the dancing girls in the moon- 
 light, "said the countess; "but still, I thought Paris 
 still held its place." 
 
 "We can say that proudly, madame, and still re- 
 gret that the Parisian obstinately insists on thinking 
 himself the centre of the universe." 
 
THE STRONGEST 189 
 
 "I didn't know you had such small prejudices. 
 How do you like the compliment, Claudia?" 
 
 "You have a terrible way of putting things, 
 madame. I was talking of the Parisian who never 
 leaves Paris. Mile. Harle has just come from the 
 country where she has seen people quite different 
 from society in the Bois." 
 
 "Paris on trial before a jury of thinkers," said 
 Montperrier, scornfully. "Will you tell me why 
 every thinking man looks toward Paris, and expects 
 something from Paris?" 
 
 "That isn't so true as it used to be unfortunately," 
 parried Deschars. "Besides, I don't think we're 
 talking about the same Paris." 
 
 "In the eighteenth century, Paris social Paris 
 held the eyes of the civilized world." 
 
 "There are times when the eighteenth century 
 seems very far off." 
 
 "That's because we're at the end of the nineteenth, 
 Monsieur Deschars," argued Claudia. " That changes 
 much. I come from the country, it's true, and things 
 weren't bad down there. But I like it up here and 
 I can't believe that there's anything anywhere finer 
 than life in Paris; of course I'm speaking of the Paris 
 that I know. When I am old and incapable of 
 pleasure, I'll meditate on the vanity of things here 
 below. While I await that day I am going to follow 
 my uncle's last words of advice: give myself up to 
 youth!" 
 
190 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "And you are right!" muttered Deschars. "The 
 trouble with Paris now is that even its young people 
 are old, tired out; they can't think or act. The 
 young; they're those that have generous impulses 
 in their hearts who believe, who have a great pur- 
 pose in life who fight against the disillusions of the 
 world, and refuse to surrender even when they are 
 beaten. Our ill-natured youth with its mean plans, 
 its shrivelled ambitions, mortified with its desire to 
 mislead, is really old. What can it know of the joy 
 of living, since it knows only a pitiable life of false- 
 hood?" 
 
 "Come, come, Monsieur Deschars," retorted the 
 countess, "what has our youth done to you? Per- 
 haps you are right? M. Montperrier, who is engaged 
 in active life, sometimes says nearly the same thing. 
 Let us begin by setting a good example. Let us get 
 to work on our tableaux." 
 
 Deschars was in a hurry to see Puymaufray and 
 tell him of his discovery: the open pretensions of 
 Montperrier and the too-obvious complicity of the 
 countess. Montperrier made it a point to leave 
 before his rival, but his sister, who had kept in the 
 background, stayed to cover his retreat. But Clau- 
 dia was no longer expansive. She suddenly became 
 silent, thoughtful, uneasy, and discontent. Mme. 
 Marie-Therese could not get a word from her on the 
 way home in the coup6. 
 
 Why should Deschars' s lofty disinterestedness 
 
THE STRONGEST 191 
 
 seem less bearable to the young girl for exposing 
 Montperrier's pretentions in all their pettiness? 
 What could the lonely virtue of truth do in a torn 
 soul against all the powers of the world? Deschars 
 stood out against the world, but where would his 
 prowess bring him? He could not impose himself 
 on the world by force of genius, and men of lofty 
 ideas were all too often honoured only after they 
 were dead, crushed in the embrace of the strongest. 
 There was a hidden grandeur. Perhaps it was the 
 most beautiful, the most worthy of admiration on 
 the part of a philosopher contemptuous of the world. 
 But that was too much of the sublime for a young^ 
 heart tempted by immediate joys. Montperrier,, 
 mediocre though he was, was gifted; he had address,, 
 elegance, and the advantage of being in the service 
 of the master powers of the world. Undoubtedly 
 he could be considered as a dupe, a little fellow on 
 great parliamentary stilts. What was the difference?' 
 A superior trick could make his power real by means; 
 of a marriage of money. 
 
 So spoke the Pannetier blood, which, by a mys- 
 terious law, Henri might have transmitted with- 
 out ever being tainted with it himself. Pannetier or 
 Puymaufray? The last of both races had recog- 
 nized their kinship in the sale of body and soul,, 
 where each one brought his share of greed to the en- 
 dowment of the succeeding generation. Were the sins 
 of the fathers to descend upon the innocent child? 
 
192 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Or would the daughter of Claire Mornand find her- 
 self, as her mother before her, in full resistance 
 against the social domination of the strongest? 
 
 Two powers disputed possession of her soul: Dom- 
 inic Harle, an example of active happiness, and 
 Henri de Puymaufray, thoughtful and morose all 
 love, while the other was prodigal with pleasures. 
 The heights tempted Claudia, but on her first flight 
 the attraction of the world smashed her young wings 
 and brought her down. She found a happy refuge 
 in the heart of her godfather. She would have sur- 
 rendered long ago without his warm words of un- 
 wearying tenderness. Which one really loved her? 
 Which one had received the charge of watching over 
 her from her dying mother? Who was it whom 
 neither rebuffs from Harl6 nor her own frivolity 
 could discourage? Apart from her own failure Clau- 
 dia saw the pain she might cause her godfather. No, 
 she would not fail. She would not be taken in by 
 the seductions of the world. It seemed brilliant, but 
 it must be bad, since her godfather held it so. She 
 would not be beaten. "I will not, / mil not!" she 
 said to herself. And at the bottom of her heart a 
 voice answered, "Can you resist?" 
 
 While Mme. du Peyrouard and the countess dis- 
 cussed their plan of campaign, Maurice Deschars 
 sought out Puymaufray and told him the news in 
 one brief exclamation: 
 
THE STRONGEST 193 
 
 "Montperrier wants to marry Claudia. The 
 countess is on his side. We are lost!" 
 
 At first Henri would not admit "lost" in any 
 way. 
 
 "You must have expected that Claudia's hand 
 wouldn't be yours without a struggle," he said. "I've 
 heard of many rivals already. Given time, they'll 
 hear of the bargain from New York to San Francisco. 
 Fortunately Dominic despises the idea of restoring 
 the fortunes of a ruined clubman. He hasn't worked 
 in order to pay off some prodigal's debts, and he is 
 beginning to think that he may as well be an ancestor 
 himself. Claudia is guarded on every side. Mont- 
 perrier has on his side his political advancement and 
 the help of the countess. We should have foreseen 
 that. However, I trust to Claudia, who will be able 
 to read Montperrier's soul like a book. Trust her 
 more. Trust yourself more. I told you that before. 
 I can't head her off from Montperrier or from any- 
 body. You must make her love you." 
 
 "Oh! If it were enough to love her and to tell 
 her!" 
 
 "It is enough to love, if you love with the energy 
 of a man that is confident of victory, and if you put 
 everything into your love." 
 
 "And you? Have you ever loved that way? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 "Yes when I loved badly. When the true love 
 came, my will was captive, with all the rest of me." 
 
194 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I can't tell you what to do. Now you want 
 oie to say that I'm here to help? You know I am!" 
 
 "Yes. I wanted you to tell me." 
 
 Meanwhile, the Comtesse de Fourchamps thought 
 deeply. Her friendship for Mme. du Peyrouard and 
 her brother could not be in doubt. She was ready 
 to help them with all her power. But her help must 
 accord with her own circumstances. Long ago, in 
 an hour of weariness, she had had a discreet friend- 
 ship with M. Montperrier, at the beginning of his 
 career. He had the art of not remembering, grateful 
 in anticipation of the service that was still to come. 
 She was settling her account with him by the excel- 
 lent marriage which she knew she would one day 
 arrange for him. But what difference was it to 
 Montperrier whether the girl was Claudia or some- 
 one else? What she had to know was what she, her- 
 self Mme. de Fourchamps wanted for herself. 
 Puymaufray attracted her by his disdain for all 
 conventional triumphs; Harle, by his power of 
 action. She would dominate Harle, but Puymau- 
 fray would be her master. It was a great risk for a 
 woman who had never surrendered herself. What 
 did she know of him? Hadn't all her feminine art 
 fallen before his unshaken reserve? Under his 
 tranquil cordiality how invincibly did he resist every- 
 thing that attracts men and draws them on? Not 
 that he had given up the world entirely! A light 
 
THE STRONGEST 195 
 
 in his eyes, a trembling of his voice, at times showed 
 the hidden flame of some mysterious passion. All 
 she had gained for her efforts to enter into his mind 
 was the irritation of knowing that it was always 
 shut to her. Of what use were her tenderness, her 
 anger, her hate which hurt her so much that she 
 herself had asked whether it was not love? Noth- 
 ing; of no use! She had won nothing. In Poitou 
 and in Paris, where she had hoped to draw him to- 
 ward her, he had remained the same; sweetly im- 
 penetrable. Against what was she fighting? How 
 could she fathom him? Even her indifference had 
 failed against his inscrutable absorption with an 
 inner life. And now it was clear that she could 
 never penetrate his armour without the help of 
 something unforeseen, without the decisive shock 
 of some surprise. Harle did not mind waiting and 
 was satisfied with engaging smiles. He had decided 
 not to come to terms until his new enterprise was in 
 the full stream of success. On his side she could 
 gain time. But the rivalry of Deschars and Mont- 
 perrier was certain to precipitate events. If she up- 
 held the claims of Montperrier she would alienate 
 forever the good graces of Puymaufray. Let Mont- 
 perrier be hanged, if only Puymaufray would 
 
 The countess had come to that point in her re- 
 flections when Baron Oppert was announced. Be- 
 sides his other virtues, the baron was a psychologist. 
 Last night he had been struck with the countess's 
 
196 THE STRONGEST 
 
 insistent questions about Puymaufray in a brief 
 talk they had had. He had a presentiment of 
 "weakness" unworthy such a beautiful hand at the 
 game. The idea of a disqualified man like Puy- 
 maufray being admitted to rivalry with Harle 
 seemed to Oppert the height of absurdity. Besides, 
 Mme. du Peyrouard had given him, in confidence, 
 an account of Montperrier's intentions, he had 
 promised his support, as he had agreed with her in 
 advance. He saw in the scheme advantages for 
 Harle in whose favour the Abbe Nathaniel had 
 gone to Rome with a plea for a title and for Mont- 
 perrier. Oppert was already building on what 
 he deemed tantamount to the accomplished fact. 
 Why should the caprices of a woman break up 'a 
 combination so simple and so wise? He felt it his 
 duty to the countess to find out what dreams were 
 disturbing her usually clear and logical mind. 
 
 After gallantly kissing her hand the baron buried 
 himself in a cushion and began: 
 
 "I have noticed, dear lady, that you very seldom 
 talk for the pleasure of talking. And so, when I 
 left you last night, I thought over your preoccupa- 
 tion with the Marquis de Puymaufray and won- 
 dered whether the prospects of our friend Mont- 
 perrier weren't being imperilled by him." 
 
 "To tell the truth, I'm afraid they are, my dear 
 baron. I can't give you details. M. Deschars is 
 making a stiff fight and the marquis isn't the man to 
 
THE STRONGEST 197 
 
 be indifferent to his godchild's marriage. He will 
 support his candidate all the more heartily since he 
 seems to dislike M. Montperrier. He has influence 
 over Harle. I have often wondered what can bring 
 together two men so utterly different." 
 
 "I've sometimes asked Harle about his friend 
 with whom he's always quarrelling. He doesn't 
 speak ill of him." 
 
 "That's because he isn't afraid of him. Do you 
 know anything about Mme. Harle?" 
 
 "I thought of that. She was a sick woman . . > 
 Fits of black madness. Didn't you hear about it 
 down there?" 
 
 "Hardly. To love a man like Puymaufray, 
 Harle must feel himself bound by something; a 
 great service done to him or perhaps a great service 
 done by him." 
 
 "Am I mistaken? It seems to me he's courting 
 you." 
 
 "Who? Harle?" 
 
 "I wouldn't need to ask. I'm talking about Puy- 
 maufray." 
 
 "What could have put that idea into your head?" 
 
 "I don't know. I thought so. He has a certain 
 grandeur. You might find him very attractive." 
 
 "I might; but I don't. Besides, if you want my 
 opinion, I think he's devoted to Claudia alone." 
 
 "These hermits are a desperate sort of creature. 
 When they have done their duty, which is to ruin 
 
198 THE STRONGEST 
 
 themselves for the profit of those that work for their 
 living, you never can tell what they are going to do 
 with their uselessness. This one has become senti- 
 mental and is falling to pieces over it. It's incur- 
 able. Even you couldn't do anything. Harle is a 
 <different kind. He has ideas and an intensity that 
 I really admire. We can get along together. I sup- 
 pose we remain faithful to Montperrier, don't we? " 
 
 "I think so. Always." 
 
 "You are right. The affair is equally advantage- 
 ous to the captain of industry and to the politician . 
 I say nothing of the little doll. Under our direction, 
 this union of forces, skillfully employed, can produce 
 a great power. I sometimes dream that you will 
 add another item to the kingdom of beauty and wit." 
 
 "If the world weren't upside down, baron, you 
 would be master of France." 
 
 "Perhaps I am more a master than many a 
 crowned head, madame." 
 
 The countess understood her friend thoroughly 
 and was grateful to him for the advice he gave. But 
 she had decided to bring her uncertainties to light 
 and not to take sides until she was sure of her ground. 
 The baron saw everything financially, but there was 
 something else. In order to decide she had to probe 
 Puymaufray and, without waiting for deeper causes, 
 to find out how far he would yield and how far he 
 would refuse. The hour for diplomacy had passed. 
 With an enemy that was always on the defensive 
 
THE STRONGEST 199 
 
 it was necessary to risk everything on a frontal 
 attack. 
 
 She saw him regularly at Harle's. She asked him 
 to come to see her, and talked about himself, about 
 Claudia, about anything that might provoke him to 
 confidences. But all the confidences he gave her 
 were either commonplace or false. Sometimes she 
 would break into a eulogy of Montperrier; then, 
 her anger gone, she would calm him by making him 
 understand that she would sacrifice all her friendships 
 in order to please him. 
 
 The better Henri knew the countess, the more he 
 feared her. He saw that Harle was living from day 
 to day with his eyes fixed on hers. He knew that 
 her graciously implacable will held fast the man on 
 whom supreme happiness or unhappiness depended. 
 He was far from detaching Claudia; every day he saw 
 the bond grow stronger between the girl he loved and 
 the woman who must steal his love from him. Yes, 
 Claire's daughter, of the purest and noblest blood, 
 was yielding to the attraction of a corrupted soul 
 which tempted her with the vanity of ruling over the 
 despicable world. 
 
 Alas! He was again wearying Claudia with his 
 eternal remonstrances. But what other part could 
 he play? The better part of his advantage in the 
 country was being wasted, lost, just when the danger 
 grew most acute. Undoubtedly there was Deschars; 
 but Deschars was afraid, and sensing danger on 
 
200 THE STRONGEST 
 
 every side asked for help instead of giving it. Only 
 Prince Charming could rescue the child! A simple 
 and direct man, of noble mind and a tender heart, 
 at war with himself and paralyzed by love, fought at 
 a singular disadvantage in this perplexing world 
 where everything was against him. Montperrier, 
 figuring everything out, could let himself be carried 
 along, because he served both the high and the low 
 interests of the strongest. Claudia herself remained 
 the best chance. But genius was needed for her 
 deliverance, while Puymaufray and Deschars had 
 only love. 
 
 Sheltered behind her perennial smile the countess 
 was watching her prey. The hour would soon come 
 when she would feel it trembling under her pink 
 claws. A passing quarrel between Claudia and Henri 
 gave her the occasion she sought. 
 
 Yielding to irresistible example Claudia had re- 
 turned to her cosmetics, and Puymaufray was vexed 
 to see her obstinately ignoring all his prayers. 
 
 "What pleasure can you find in it?" he asked. 
 "It's a lie which hasn't even the excuse of deceiving 
 any one." 
 
 "Papa says I look very well this way. And be- 
 sides, it's amusing. When everybody agrees to 
 lie it's just the same as if everybody were telling the 
 truth, because nobody is deceived. When I tell a 
 bore I'm glad to see him, I'm lying, too. What's 
 the difference? I get paid in the same coin and the 
 
THE STRONGEST 201 
 
 world is much more agreeable than if I were to say: 
 'You bore me,' or if any one said that to me." 
 
 "Alas! You are lying to yourself, my dear child, 
 and that's worse. You are false to your youth, your 
 simplicity, your grace, your truthful charm. The vain 
 struggle against age is not so glorious. But what mad- 
 ness to disfigure your beauty in this idolatrous cult 
 of yourself which is the worst of all perversions." 
 
 "Oh! So you think I am perverse, Uncle dear? 
 What about the eighteenth century that you admire 
 so much? What about the rouge and patches and 
 powder and paniers and a lot of other things that 
 weren't exactly in the best of taste and which I 
 don't have to use?" 
 
 "These aren't the things for which I love that 
 century. And the end showed that it had in it the 
 germs of violent dissolution." 
 
 "Let me hope that a little white or pink cream 
 for chapped hands won't have such terrible conse- 
 quences. Come, let me see you smile." 
 
 "No. I don't feel like smiling. Because you've 
 painted your little face you can kiss me only with 
 the tip of your lips. And I can't give you a hearty 
 embrace. I dare you to fling your arms round my 
 neck." Then, after a pause : " You see ? you haven't 
 even budged." 
 
 "Because you're making me angry." 
 
 "The truth has wounded you, my poor child. 
 I thought you loved me enough " 
 
202 THE STRONGEST 
 
 A shake of the head, a gesture of impatience, cut 
 short these conversations. Henri was too often com- 
 pelled to make advances for a reconciliation. The 
 child did not yield. 
 
 One day when his patience was exhausted he an- 
 nounced that he no longer recognized his Claudia 
 and would wait until he could find her again. This 
 time there was a real quarrel and the Comtesse de 
 Fourchamps, seeing Henri helpless, thought that the 
 time had come to unmask her batteries. 
 
 The moment he came she opened fire bravely: 
 
 "I am desolate to see you so unhappy under your 
 forced gaiety, my dear marquis. My friendship is 
 very clairvoyant and I easily guess what you don't 
 tell me. If you are displeased by my indiscretion, I 
 will stop. However, I would be really glad to con- 
 tribute, if I could, to easing your troubles. Per- 
 haps you have always thought I was your enemy 
 at bottom. I mean: disposed to oppose your ideas 
 about the happiness of those who are dear to you. 
 I want you to think better of me. That's the reason 
 I am taking the trouble of speaking to you openly." 
 
 Henri heard her out, silent with amazement at 
 seeing all the reserve and prudence end in this out- 
 break of confidence. 
 
 "But I am not unhappy, dear madame, I assure 
 you," he said with an effort. 
 
 "Ah! You oughn't to answer that way to my 
 offer of friendship the most honest and most dis- 
 
THE STRONGEST 203 
 
 interested, I swear. Well, then, I must stop there, 
 since you wish it. I shall be sorry, because it seems 
 to me I could have helped you." 
 
 "But I beg you to speak, madame," said Henri, 
 disconcerted by a vague ray of hope in the darkness. 
 
 "It's different if you demand it. Come, surely 
 you don't believe I was the only one who didn't see 
 your immense affection for your exquisite little niece. 
 You saw her born, her father is your most intimate 
 friend, her mother asked you to watch over her when 
 she was dying. You promised. Claudia is the only 
 love ajid the sole thought of one who has paid, I fear, 
 for an excess of wild life by an excess of solitude." 
 
 " You have put it very well. You are not the only 
 one that knows." 
 
 "Well. I can only draw one conclusion from this 
 story, which is altogether to your advantage; and I 
 am not afraid of a denial." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " In one word. The supreme trial has come. The 
 marriage day is at hand. It's the greatest risk a 
 woman can run. We have only a choice of miseries; 
 jealous tyranny or the insult of indifference; un- 
 certainty, polite or brutal desertion; disillusions; 
 weariness with a chain which we must drag along; 
 despair; hatred; and for the climax, the temptation 
 of a secret revenge. That is the destiny to which the 
 banal words of the priest too often open the doors 
 for us." 
 
204 THE STRONGEST 
 
 " There is also love," said Puymauf ray with a smile. 
 
 "Yes. That's the bait with which we are caught. 
 However, none of us know what we are doing on the 
 day we marry. It's a mad party played by the 
 blind, with unhappiness as the stake. You speak of 
 happy chances. You know how rare they are and 
 that is what makes you so bitterly anxious for the 
 child you love. Am I right?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "At last we are agreed. Of course I guessea your 
 feelings. "What follows is inevitable. M. Harl 
 is an excellent man, but he is absorbed in his business, 
 and he is satisfied if his child, whom he adores, 
 is enjoying the present. She well, she gathers 
 roses while she may. That's what we all did at her 
 age. And you're afraid of boring her with your ser- 
 mons, although she loves you tenderly. Didn't it 
 ever occur to you that it would be a good idea to call 
 in the aid of a friend?" 
 
 Puymaufray made a gesture void of definite mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "You remember that it was I who asked you to 
 come to Paris. I know you would have come of 
 your own accord because Harm's situation inevitably 
 sacrifices his daughter to the calculations of our sad 
 world. You couldn't have allowed her to face such 
 risks while you were away. At any rate, I gave you 
 the necessary pretext for coming. Would I have 
 done that had I been opposed to you?" 
 
THE STRONGEST 205 
 
 "I never thought you were." 
 
 "I would like to believe that. Be that as it may 
 I have spoken too frankly to stop now. I must go 
 on to the end. The candidates are showing them- 
 selves. How often have I been asked to drop a 
 favourable word! You'll guess without my telling 
 you. I love the child too well, and even before I 
 knew you I had too much respect for those who had 
 rights over her. In such a serious business I would 
 not risk a thoughtless word. However, Claudia is 
 fully conscious of her awakening ambitions, most of 
 which, to tell the truth, are not of the noblest. Just 
 exactly what is she thinking, and what is she feeling? 
 She can't tell us freely because it's too much trouble 
 to be clear to herself. Like you, I am figuring on her 
 natural goodness. But what does she know about 
 life? and how could she tell truth from falsehood? 
 She has a fortune and she is beautiful. What can 
 tempt her? Social position? Perhaps; or the satis- 
 faction of a personal sentiment . . . and you 
 can figure the chances from your own remark: There 
 is also love'." 
 
 "All this is very well thought out, madame. But 
 what can we do?" 
 
 "Very little, to tell the truth. But who knows? 
 Perhaps this very little can swing the balance. If it 
 comes at the critical moment of which a woman is 
 the best judge a word may be decisive." 
 
 "Dear lady," said Henri who knew his danger all 
 
206 THE STRONGEST 
 
 too well, "you are showing that you are a true friend 
 of my little girl. I am grateful to you for wanting to 
 guide Claudia with your advice. Perhaps the event 
 you speak of is not so close as you think " 
 
 "My dear marquis, you are losing all your skill at 
 diplomacy. I never speak inopportunely. And 
 since you appreciate my frankness, I will go on, to 
 gain merit in your eyes. The nobility of your feel- 
 ing has inspired in me the most lively sympathy from 
 the first day, and let me add, the sincerest affection. 
 You know me very little indeed if you judge me by 
 the foolish gossip of Paris. I am a very honest woman, 
 and when I give my hand I do not go back on it." 
 
 She held out her hand, wide open, a hand too long, 
 too white, worked over, composed like a work of art, 
 sparkling with jewels (unknown to her ancestors, 
 and suggesting anything but honesty) . Henri started 
 to kiss it. 
 
 "No, no," said the countess, turning her palm 
 upward. " We must first shake hands on the strength 
 of it. Afterward, we shall see. Do we shake?" 
 
 "Shake," said Puymaufray with more courtesy 
 than enthusiasm. 
 
 "Good. I am done with my speech. We are 
 friends, sworn friends. You can count on me. To- 
 gether we shall be able to defend Claudia. Our 
 alliance gives me a precious duty. And who knows? 
 Later when you get to know me better; when you 
 learn how much I, the woman of the world, am de- 
 
THE STRONGEST 207 
 
 tached from the world; and when you see how I can 
 repay your confidence with the absolute loyalty of 
 my heart " 
 
 She had lowered her eyes to accentuate the equi- 
 vocation. When she raised them again she could not 
 suppress a movement of terror at the sight of Puy- 
 maufray who had just begun to understand. At 
 last the light had come! What then? Was it to 
 this that the miserable creature was leading him? 
 Marriage the price of Claudia's safety! She dared 
 to propose it to him in cold blood. To give himself 
 up as ransom for Claire's child? Not himself alone, 
 but Claire with him Claire herself, living in him, 
 outraged, soiled by the odious contact. He had 
 heard the infamous words, and yet he was there! 
 He had not flung his contempt in her face! 
 
 A woman is between us, thought the countess, trem- 
 bling with rage. "A woman who hates me." Then, 
 controlling herself with admirable poise she went on: 
 
 "Yes, my dear marquis, later when you know 
 me better, when you have put me to the test, when 
 you are able to judge how much energy I can put into 
 your service you will remember, gratefully I hope, 
 our conversation of to-day." 
 
 "I shall not need to wait until then, madame," 
 answered Puymaufray with a breaking voice. 
 "Your affection for my godchild is a guarantee that 
 you wish for her happiness, and I dared to hope, even 
 before, that a little of this friendship would be ex- 
 
208 THE STRONGEST 
 
 tended to me. You have assured me of it. I give 
 you all my gratitude. I assure you that it is not lost 
 on me!" 
 
 "I am sure of it." 
 
 But when she was alone she asked herself: 
 
 "Then who is between us? I must have become 
 pretty stupid to let myself be mocked by this pitiable 
 dreamer. After all, what's the difference? I offered 
 peace. He chose war. He shall have war to th 
 knife." 
 
 And Puymaufray, mad with rage, knew too well 
 with what renewed ardour his enemies would press 
 upon him. He felt a savage fury rise in him against 
 all who stood between him and Claudia, and swore 
 that he would spare nothing, even if he had to give 
 his life for the child. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 UNDER the direction of Etienne Montperrier 
 aided by Deschars, by the painter, Wilfrid 
 Leigh, and the amateur artist, Alphonse 
 de Valvois the tableaux vivants were hastily or- 
 ganized. There was some difficulty about assign- 
 ing the parts. Wilfrid Leigh had created a Queen 
 of Sheba that was very Parisian, and the rough sketch 
 was loudly acclaimed. It was universally recog- 
 nized that the Comtesse de Fourchamps was the only 
 woman who had sufficient authority to create the 
 part. Montperrier easily persuaded her to take it, 
 and, when his sister asked for the part of a lady in 
 waiting whose simplicity would enhance the splendour 
 of the Oriental queen, he yielded cheerfully. For 
 the rest, Montperrier diplomatically solved the prob- 
 lem of roles by agreeing to every request. They 
 needed a Solomon and the Comtesse de Fourchamps 
 proposed the Prince de Luques. 
 
 "With a curly wig, a black beard, a crown, and 
 sceptre, the prince will give us a perfect picture of 
 royalty," she said. 
 
 The prince needed all these trappings because nis 
 long, shaking body, his patchy skull, his small, meanly 
 
210 THE STRONGEST 
 
 vicious eyes would more naturally recall Scaramouche 
 in his grave than Solomon in all his glory. However, 
 it was agreed that the idea was admirable and that 
 the prince would cause a sensation. 
 
 "M. Montperrier," continued the countess, "it 
 is up to you to make the prince accept." She did 
 not tell him that she had already arranged the matter 
 with De Luques. 
 
 In contrast with Montperrier, Deschars succeeded 
 in pleasing nobody. It must be said that the coun- 
 tess led the opposition. 
 
 While Deschars was briefly explaining the legend, 
 and trying groupings on the ramparts of the castle, 
 the countess interrupted with: 
 
 "Tell me, Monsieur Deschars, about your prince 
 who became a monk. Did he change the world as 
 he set out to?" 
 
 "Yes, madame. He converted the hearts of many 
 hundred millions of men. Or rather he brought into 
 action their natural goodness which had been sup- 
 pressed under a weight of selfishness." 
 
 "What is that in comparison with Him who gave 
 His blood to save all mankind?" 
 
 "In his hatred of suffering, Buddha's pity went as 
 far as the beasts. He offered his body to the tigress, 
 so that the cubs might not be hungry." 
 
 "He was mad." 
 
 "Yes; as are all of us who go beyond the usual 
 limits." 
 
THE STRONGEST 211 
 
 "Do you know that you are talking like a pagan? 
 In other times you'd be burned alive. To-day your 
 immorality will close the doors of society upon you." 
 
 "I didn't think I was being immoral, and from 
 what I've seen I shouldn't say that the world was so 
 strict." 
 
 "We don't kill newborn babes, like the Chinese/* 
 
 "Strange. I heard the opposite in the criminal 
 court the other day." 
 
 "We aren't polygamists." 
 
 "I should hardly have guessed that from seeing the 
 walking harems along the boulevards." 
 
 "We are charitable." 
 
 "The rich are hardly drained by their charity/' 
 
 "And what are we doing now, I ask you? Is this 
 the time to scandalize us with your impiety? It's 
 a charitable fte. We answer you simply by helping 
 others and by making you do the same. Don't 
 you see that Mile. Harle is waiting for you to tell her 
 about your dirty Buddha on whom I'd close my 
 doors if it weren't for the dancing girls/' 
 
 "You will bear witness, mademoiselle, that all 
 I'm trying to do is to make the court pleasing to you/' 
 
 "Yes," answered Claudia, "that is the most im- 
 portant part, and we're nearly agreed on it. Lucienne 
 Preban tells me she'll accept the part of Buddha. 
 She'll be in to-morrow. You'll get the instructions 
 ready for her, won't you? As for me, I must be 
 Gopa, the wife of the Prince. What about her?" 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 "She was the most beautiful of women, and by a 
 miracle, the best of women, too." 
 
 "You mean that the combination hasn't been seen 
 since?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I note the coincidence." 
 
 "Splendid. And what does Gopa need?" 
 
 "According to the story, her father-in-law gave 
 her 'two pieces of white cloth strewn with precious 
 stones, a collar of pearls, and a golden garland en- 
 crusted with real pearls.' ' 
 
 "Oh, what a costume! The countess will lend me 
 her pearls. And what did the Prince give her?" 
 
 "A robe with sheets of gold." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "I'm not sure. The rarest of his gifts was un- 
 undoubtedly the spectacle of his supreme wisdom." 
 
 "Which he proved by leaving her to beg along the 
 roads." 
 
 "That prince is certainly not a good example," 
 put in Mme. du Peyrouard. 
 
 "My dear Deschars," criticized Montperrier. 
 "Your designs, which are charming, have one fault. 
 You have the Prince down stage with the crowd as 
 the background. I suggest that you give more im- 
 portance to the Court. The Prince is such a model 
 of virtue that he ought to be modest, too. We'll 
 run the chariot down to the entrance of the stage 
 as not to be embarrassed by the horses. The driver 
 is waiting for the signal to go. The Prince turns 
 
THE STRONGEST 213 
 
 for the final gesture of farewell to his wife. The 
 whole audience will follow his look." 
 
 "Really, it will be better that way" said Claudia. 
 
 "Oh, it isn't what an artist would suggest," said 
 Montperrier, modestly. "But when the actors and 
 the spectators are society folk you have to consult 
 the convenience of the eye." 
 
 "How do you manage to think of everything?" 
 asked the countess. 
 
 "As for the Temptation, your sketch is perfect," 
 continued Montperrier, who wanted to make a show 
 of being generous. "Only Buddha, seen in profile, 
 must be dressed all in gold under his palm tree. Of 
 course gold isn't in the book, but the effect will be 
 better. I suppose Mile. Lucienne Preban will play 
 Buddha straight through. All gold, but very simple, 
 and with a lotus flower in her hand. For the rest, 
 an orgy of dancing girls with flowers, Mile. Harle in 
 the foreground. We'll develop the figures as we go 
 along." 
 
 The countess and Mme. du Peyrouard were de- 
 ciding whom to invite, discussing the latest indecen- 
 cies of the stage and the newest follies of society, 
 when Claudia came up to them. 
 
 "I suppose we shall have to invite Joseph Carls- 
 berg," she said. 
 
 "I should think so," answered the countess. 
 "He'll give us all sorts of notices in the press. Be- 
 sides, he's a protege of the baron." 
 
214 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "He's not any too decorative." 
 
 "What's the difference? He's a fine worker in a 
 good cause." 
 
 "Mile. Claudia, we need you for the Temptation 
 scene," cried Montperrier. 
 
 Claudia ran off and presently they heard a grave 
 discussion on the poses of the dancing girls. 
 
 "We must be careful not to have Carlsberg against 
 us," said the countess. 
 
 "I should say so. He's one of the most powerful 
 people." 
 
 "Yes. We mustn't lose sight of him. Why, look 
 here, you're only allowing ten cards to Mme. de 
 Plomeur. If she brings her whole court " 
 
 "All her friends have remained faithful to her. 
 That's the finest thing you can say for a woman of 
 sixty." 
 
 "Do you remember the amusing trick that mon- 
 ster Beauval played on her?" 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "Well, he undertook to persuade her that he had 
 had the honour of being one of her passions long ago. 
 His memory seemed frightfully precise." 
 
 "Oh, yes. And then after she had denied and 
 denied she ended by saying: 'Well, if you're 
 sure '" 
 
 "Napoleon didn't remember the names of all 
 his battles. But he was an emperor all the same, 
 just as Mme. de Plomeur was the glory of Paris." 
 
THE STRONGEST 215 
 
 "We mustn't forget Mme. de Brion." 
 
 A discussion in the next room cut short the conver- 
 sation. The temptresses of Buddha all wanted 
 first honours. Montperrier suggested that Claudia 
 be alone in the foreground, but showing only her 
 profile. Deschars wanted her full face, more in the 
 middle distance, dominating the whole scene. Clau- 
 dia inclined toward the latter, but the countess 
 asserted that the pose lacked character, so Mont- 
 perrier's opinion was upheld. 
 
 "I think," said Montperrier, "that the Aged and 
 Incorrigible will be satisfied with us, madame." 
 
 The remark was apropos and the countess was 
 grateful to the young politician for recalling the 
 purpose, momentarily forgotten, of all these praise- 
 worthy efforts. 
 
 When the time came to make the poses definite, 
 Montperrier said that Deschars's designs had to be 
 transposed into the Parisian mode by a specialist. 
 Signora Farnini, one-time star of the Scala, was 
 chosen and took up her work. She was a heavy, 
 matronly body with an obliging smile, who devoted 
 herself to Deschars and kept him endlessly busy. 
 Montperrier was liberated and became the most 
 devoted of Claudia's collaborators. All of this was 
 in a bustle of people discussing costumes and poses, 
 asking questions and cutting the answers short by 
 incongruous counter questions, laughing, joking, flirt- 
 ing, telling scandalous tales, helping the Aged 
 
216 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Incorrigibles. Chief among them were: Lucienne 
 Preban, jealously guarded by her Levantine, Count 
 Spiridion Levidi; the! beautiful Lady Ha ward; 
 Mme d'Arrois; the Prince de Luques, of whom every- 
 body asked the truth concerning Melanie; the Mar- 
 quis de Bernot, who was only waiting for Mont- 
 perrier to be put in his place, so that he might offer 
 Harle his marquisate; and Dumouzin, with his eye 
 ever watchful. There was, besides, a rout of young 
 people, grateful to the Aged Incorrigibles for the 
 chance to live the Marriage at Cana, after Veronese. 
 
 Claudia's education was being rapidly completed 
 in this environment. For her it was the world the 
 world realized in a happy hum of living and her 
 godfather was only the dream of a dead happiness. 
 
 Henri came, or rather let himself be brought, to 
 the rehearsals by a sense of futile duty. He found 
 himself out of place, in the way, and remained 
 dreamily waiting for something to happen which did 
 not happen. Claudia was surrounded, adored, 
 courted on every hand, saw welcome in every pair 
 of eyes. She was proud of her triple power wealth, 
 beauty, and youth and found that everything that 
 ruled the world was at her service. She found herself 
 forgetful of Henri's uneasiness, and could not bear 
 the weight of his affection the only obstacle to her 
 happiness. 
 
 What an irony to recall to her, now, the humble 
 friends she had at Ste. Radegonde, those simple creat- 
 
THE STRONGEST 217 
 
 ures, uncouth but gentle, whom she helped for the 
 pure joy of making them happy for a day. How 
 far away it all was now! How much had happened 
 in a few weeks! A world had ended for her! 
 
 The Prince de Luques was not making things 
 easier for Puymaufray. He had had many good 
 times with the marquis, for they had been ruined to- 
 gether and the prince was happy to go into reminis- 
 cences because they helped him to diminish the 
 "superiority" of his friend. Claudia was vastly 
 amused, and Puymaufray was bitterly offended by 
 her amusement. 
 
 "Do you know who came in to see me this morn- 
 ing?" De Luques would say. "Moses Bernard; 
 used to be head of the claque at the Gymnase. No, 
 he isn't dead. It's incredible. He's still doing a 
 little money-lending, just to have something to do, 
 because he's rich. Oh, I can just see him again, sell- 
 ing and buying, diamonds or titles, with those women. 
 That was the beginning of a great art. It's been 
 perfected since. I'd like to paint for you, dear 
 countess, the despair of our friend the marquis. 
 He was crazy about Valentine Michou of the Gym- 
 nase in those days. One day when he was standing 
 behind a prop of some sort he heard Valentine pass 
 a few words with Bernard, some strange confidences 
 about their business. Valentine was the incarnation 
 of the dreams of our youth in those days. She had 
 confided her savings which were in part the heritage 
 
218 THE STRONGEST 
 
 of our friend to Bernard who was lending them to 
 Henri. So you see he was lending his own money to 
 himself, at a good rate of interest. Only who would 
 have believed it? Moses was robbing his client. 
 It was a mistake, because Valentine could always 
 check him up through some confession made in the 
 madness of love. Hence the quarrel which surprised 
 the marquis, while Valentine waited for her cue to go 
 on for her big scene. The poor lover was sad for a 
 whole month. He was a fine sou leven then. Now, 
 tell me, have I told anything but the truth? " 
 
 Puymaufray shrugged his shoulders, laughing with 
 bad grace while Claudia and the countess tried very 
 hard to suppress their laughter. De Luques con- 
 tinued with another story. Even when Henri had 
 left and the countess reproached the prince, he did 
 not stop, but proved his point with still another gay 
 tale. 
 
 "You don't even try to prevent Claudia from 
 hearing these things about her godfather," protested 
 the countess, holding Claudia close to her. 
 
 "Ah, it's time I was warned. Happily, Mile. 
 Harle" is not a provincial. She had better learn to 
 know her Paris, because she's going to be its queen 
 some day." 
 
 "And is all you've been telling us really Paris?" 
 asked Claudia, maliciously. 
 
 "We are Paris." 
 
 "Plus something else, surely," retorted the girl. 
 
THE STRONGEST 219 
 
 "Hardly." (The prince was contemptuous.) 
 "Oh, yes, writers and artists and working people and 
 I don't know what else people who work for our 
 pleasure and count only by the success we bring 
 them. Society flourishes in us, and what people 
 call 'corruptions' are only the necessary . . . 
 fertilizer for any flowering. I ruined myself mag- 
 nificently for the profit of Paris. In a way we are 
 doing the same thing now for the Aged " 
 
 "How can you compare the two?" asked the coun- 
 tess. 
 
 "Oh, you know it's the same thing. We needn't 
 play with words. Our function is to enjoy; our art 
 is to utilize our enjoyment." 
 
 "You are a cynic, prince." 
 
 "And you a lovely hypocrite, countess. But I 
 will not abuse my advantage. Let us get on with 
 our work.' 
 
 It was at "work" that Claudia and Montperrier 
 began to exchange ideas. A remark of Lucienne 
 Preban's, always preoccupied with tlie thought oi her 
 millions, started them. 
 
 "Why shouldn't two people dream of developing 
 their ambitions together?" asked Montperrier. 
 
 " Together? Does it often happen that a man and 
 a woman have the same ambition?" 
 
 " It can happen. The man will dream of a growing 
 power. The woman of increasing adulation. And 
 they will unite, to realize their dream in common. 
 
220 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Imagine a young girl, very beautiful and very rich 
 like you." 
 
 "I imagine that." 
 
 " Imagine, on the other hand, a man who has 
 the great chance to become ' 
 
 "Like you?" 
 
 "Like me. Good. What could be more legiti- 
 mate, more reasonable, than to base the hope of 
 permanent agreement on this foundation of similar 
 interests? It does not even exclude poetry." 
 
 "Reasonable and poetic?" 
 
 " 'All I can get 'that's my motto/ 
 
 "It's very good. But it doesn't say how these 
 similar interests are to be divided." 
 
 "That's to be decided in advance." 
 
 "Then suppose we decide, since we are the ex- 
 amples chosen. You will derive a certain advantage 
 in the way of your tailor's accounts. How shall 
 I be repaid?" 
 
 "By our common advantage in the excess of our 
 power. Your pride can take the lion's share of it." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "I'm sorry. I can't offer you the kingdom of 
 heaven to rule over." 
 
 "Your modesty pleases me. The heavens will 
 get along without our aid. So will the world, if need 
 be. You prefer not? Well, then, assume that we're 
 kings of the earth, or what you call the earth. That 
 ought to be amusing the first day and even the second. 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 But the tenth? And the hundredth? And for- 
 ever?" 
 
 "The mind refreshes its pleasures." 
 
 "Does it? I'm not even a princess yet and I'm 
 wearied with ennui already." 
 
 "If you can't change yourself you must change 
 others." 
 
 "Yes. So you will change me and I will change 
 you! How tiresome." 
 
 "You're forgetting the poetry." 
 
 "How amusing it is you're afraid to say 'love'." 
 
 "Everybody drags in the word." 
 
 "It's beautiful all the same." 
 
 "That's why the innocent suffer from it." 
 
 "You aren't one of them, I suppose?" 
 
 "Oh, we all try to escape suffering." 
 
 "Then how does it happen that, in spite of all the 
 unhappiness announced in advance, so many men 
 ind women give all for love? I don't fool myself. 
 There are times when I envy them." 
 
 "Look at them when they return. See their ex- 
 piation for the exaltation of a day. Disillusioned 
 creatures, weeping because they staked their lives 
 on one card; reproaches, hatred, bloodshed, what 
 else? And then look at the peace of those who re- 
 strained this ephemeral passion and put it in its 
 place. Have you seen any more permanent pleas- 
 ures than those that come from society?" 
 
 "I don't know. I've been taught differently." 
 
222 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Your godfather! His happiness seems sad 
 enough. The Comtesse de Fourehamps who knows 
 life " 
 
 "Are you setting her up as an example?" 
 
 " She's a very superior woman. She will tell you 
 that poetry lasts an hour and marriage forever. 
 That is why the union of interests must be estab- 
 lished first." 
 
 "So the baron tells us." 
 
 "He's a man. You can trust him." 
 
 "He told us that from the shelter of marriage we 
 can watch for any passing bit of poetry." 
 
 "It seems rather bold for you to repeat it." 
 
 "Isn't it proof of my esteem that I dare to bring 
 you face to face with the truth?" 
 
 "Perhaps. You must confess that it isn't usual 
 for people to talk as we've been talking." 
 
 "Yes. It's usual to conform to the rules of the 
 world and then lie to one's self and to others, with 
 pompous words." 
 
 "On the contrary. At our age it is not lying." 
 
 "It is time for youth to learn by the experience of 
 age. I am as capable of love as the verse-makers, 
 perhaps more so. But I'd be ashamed to talk to a 
 woman chosen for my companion about her beauty 
 and nothing else." 
 
 "It's a pity! Everything contradicts what I have 
 learned. Everything leads me to new risks. And 
 even now I sometimes get a feeling of disgust." 
 
THE STRONGEST 223 
 
 "Does it require so much courage to live in your 
 own time?" 
 
 On that the discussion broke up, for Lucienne and 
 Deschars came up to settle a dispute. They brought 
 with them Count Levidi, who was to play the Gali- 
 lean. Puymaufray could not suppress a smile. 
 
 "Poor Crucified one," he thought. " To have had 
 the glory of being defeated in the name of pity and to 
 win, in time, this revenge: that the strongest whom 
 You wished to drag down use You as an instrument 
 of oppressing the poor that You wished to save! 
 How can Claudia be blind to this falsification of 
 words and things? I see the evil of my time but can 
 do nothing to realize the good. What can I offer this 
 child? The example of my defeat, which undeserved 
 luck turned into victory ? I cannot tell of the victory. 
 Everywhere lurks the danger of opposing the world ! 
 Everywhere the temptation to surrender as Mont- 
 perrier must have shown her just now. What were 
 they talking about? They seemed serious and 
 Claudia's face promised little good. Every day I 
 know she is slipping from me. If Deschars loved her 
 less he might save her. He is afraid as I am." 
 
 When they met at night Henri and Deschars tried 
 to console each other. But the letters Henri wrote 
 to Nanette were unhappy, and he was not surprised 
 to find a note from her, one day, announcing that, as 
 she tired of receiving letters that told nothing, she 
 would come to Paris herself. 
 
CHAPTER XH 
 
 PUYMAUFRAY was justified in criticizing 
 Maurice. The generation that followed the 
 war of 1870 was a generation of observers. 
 Discouraged from action by the defeat of their elders," 
 our young men devoted themselves to contemplation. 
 They wrote, sang; some of them even thought. But 
 the mainspring of their will never was wound up to 
 the striking point, because it lacked a sufficient con- 
 centration of energy. Those that presumptuously 
 assumed the power to act had neither foresight nor 
 method, and only added to the confusion. 
 
 Deschars was of his generation. He had travelled 
 over the world merely to see, and had brought back 
 no urgent need of high activity. In that respect 
 Montperrier seemed to have an advantage over him 
 for he had chosen to take part in something which, 
 for good or ill, useful or not, was concerned with the 
 supposed evolution of the future. If Deschars had 
 had a great human object in view he could perhaps 
 have carried off Claudia without argument. But, 
 as he had told Puymaufray, he aimed at nothing be- 
 yond a life of moderate happiness, which he would 
 joyfully make of service to the world, without ever 
 
 224 
 
THE STRONGEST 225 
 
 risking the sudden turns of fortune in the melee of 
 life. It was exactly what Puymaufray had done, so 
 he could not be critical. But Puymaufray had found 
 his dream, and was still dazzled because he had lived 
 it. It was an incredible stroke of Fortune, which was 
 denied to Deschars. 
 
 However, Claudia could experience the attraction 
 of a life above the ordinary spectacle of the world. 
 She said things to Montperrier, she mocked her- 
 tfelf, unconsciously irritated because she was not 
 yet subdued. But the man who really loved her 
 could still summon her to hazardous heights from 
 which to pass judgment on the swarming life 
 below. 
 
 But without the imperious invasion of love, dis- 
 couraged by social conventions, the discussions of 
 Deschars and Puymaufray were powerless to detach 
 the girl from the interests of her class. Lacking 
 everything else, these interests were at least a setting 
 for her life. She felt the expediency of these things, 
 was angry at them, and at times asked herself 
 whether it wouldn't be best to accept Montperrier 
 "for the world" and so assure for herself universal 
 approval in the development of her free personality. 
 The countess had done as much and it was an ex- 
 ponent of "reasonable" views who had held her up 
 as an example. 
 
 "And I, too, am beautiful," thought Claudia. 
 
 Then, as if impelled by a sudden decision, she set 
 
226 THE STRONGEST 
 
 herself before the mirror. She studied herself in de- 
 tail, gave herself a generous but strict examination, 
 reckoning up the weak points and the advantages 
 she could show. 
 
 Her waist was free and graceful, and artistically 
 disposed. She could show it to advantage even in 
 natural attitudes. The way she did her hair a 
 striking contrast with the bright youthf ulness of her 
 expression might have been shocking, as Puymau- 
 fray said. But that was the style, and one had to 
 yield to the passing whims of style as to other con- 
 ventional laws. She approved of her small, wilful 
 chin and her brave little mocking nose. She seemed 
 to take great satisfaction in the expressive play of her 
 nostrils. Her mouth was small, the lips perhaps just 
 a little too thin. The rouge-stick was a useful aid; 
 the more indispensable since flaming henna put na- 
 ture's colour in the shade. 
 
 " The great fault women have is making]their lips too 
 red," the countess used to say. "Then they have to 
 overwork the pencil on their eyelashes." 
 
 "Nothing in excess," said the Greek oracle. It 
 was enough to heighten the colour, remembering 
 always that the eyes must dominate everything. 
 Claudia's eyes, always changing, with golden lights 
 in depths of green, were the surest shaft in her ar- 
 mour. She examined them with a fresh curiosity 
 eVery time, questioned them, wondered whence their 
 power came; and, finding no answer, was uneasy as 
 
THE STRONGEST 227 
 
 a fowler might be with a net in which he himself 
 might be caught. 
 
 "What magic" she thought "in a drop of 
 water, which a ray of light strikes into rainbow col- 
 ours! ^What do we think we can see there? It at- 
 tracts hearts irresistibly; holds them, intoxicates 
 them with promises, maddens them with hope, de- 
 livers them over to ineffable joys and to unutterable 
 sorrows! It is a mystery. And can the thing we 
 think we see ever be realized? Or is it only an illu- 
 sion? I shall know after the test; too late, per- 
 haps. No matter. Happy or unhappy, I have the 
 magic talisman that conquers men. I can use it or 
 abuse it, as I please. Abuse it, above all! Tre- 
 mendous joy!" 
 
 For whom or against whom? They were questions 
 without answers. Montperrier? a good invest- 
 ment or a bad one; no one could tell. Deschars? 
 a generous madness, which always has tempted 
 humanity, and comes to grief in the end. What he 
 wanted was the last word from those eyes, the last 
 word which Claudia herself demanded in vain. With 
 him life would end in a quiet, monotonous happiness, 
 while Montperrier opened a career of infinite joys, 
 chaotic perhaps, but at least intense in their time. 
 The moment was coming when she would have to 
 choose. Until now she had had no greater perplexity 
 than the development of the power of her magic eyes 
 by vain tricks. What was there left to think of? 
 
228 THE STRONGEST 
 
 People said that morphine put the flaming tiger in 
 your eyes and besides made you dream the endless 
 dreams which made earth a paradise. . . ? 
 
 Alas! She had not looked deep enough! Under 
 the false high lights of the make-up she had not seen 
 her youth, her simple and lovely youth, trying to 
 fight its way out, disfigured by the mask of falsehood; 
 youth, which would have granted her that last word, 
 sought in vain from laborious appearances; youth, 
 which out of its mistakes makes a virtue of naivete; 
 youth, which abandons itself to life without calcu- 
 lation, which,, while it waits for the hour when it must 
 pay for its errors, knows the intensest joy of living 
 in the sheer sincerity of life. 
 
 Far from such thoughts Claudia finished the gen- 
 eral inspection of her person by a meticulous observa- 
 tion of her hands, still youthfully large, which an 
 artist was refining every day. "The hand tells 
 everything," the countess had said, and indeed her 
 own long, perfidious ones, coming down to her rosy 
 finger-tips, told much. She had taught Claudia an 
 instructive and amusing game to play at dinner 
 parties. You glance around the table at all the 
 hands and pass judgment on their owners. Then, 
 and only then, you verify by looking at their faces. 
 She said that they were the surest psychological 
 indexes: a connoisseur of women always begins with 
 the hands and finishes with the ears, where secret 
 vulgarities are revealed. 
 
THE STRONGEST 229 
 
 One thing was forgotten in this review: the spirit, 
 which ought to reveal and embellish everything else. 
 Where could she find the mirror of her conscience 
 except in the saddened eyes of her godfather against 
 whom she was defending herself. And to whom 
 could she entrust herself? To the Comtesse de Four- 
 champs? Even to Claudia's eyes her art of pre- 
 tending conveyed every impression except that of 
 truth. 
 
 And it was to falsehood that she would sacrifice 
 her pursuit of the true happiness which her uncle 
 who loved her and suffered for her wanted. The 
 thought persisted; and the fear of finding deep within 
 her the same reproachful glance which had brooded 
 over her since her childhood compelled her to escape. 
 
 The thought of Deschars also possessed her. Memo- 
 ries and obscure hopes attached her to this child- 
 hood friend and esteem for the proud timidity of 
 the man who had concentrated all his power, con- 
 fronted all dangers, yet never spoke of them; a striking 
 contrast to the superficial Montperrier who always 
 made his worth known. But she felt a dull irritation 
 with him, with herself, wounded by the disaccord 
 with the world which seemed to have the highest 
 formula of life and from which she would not consent 
 to be separated. 
 
 Maurice had definitely noticed that in the last re- 
 hearsals Claudia and Montperrier did not always 
 discuss The Marriage at Cana. Various signs warned 
 
230 THE STRONGEST 
 
 him that serious things were being said: Claudia's 
 grave face, the intense look of her partner. There 
 could be but one subject that could inspire such 
 attitudes, as of forces gathered to attack or defend; 
 these silences, these words without gestures, the ex- 
 pression of solemnity on the brink of the inevitable. 
 
 Deschars was in love. He was enslaved by the 
 sovereign charm that draws a man to a woman. The 
 man is sometimes weak because he loves; the woman, 
 strong, knowing nothing of love. He had set his 
 dream on the unconscious soul of a girl of twenty 
 and followed it lost. He loved. He had confessed 
 it in a hundred obvious or imperceptible ways, and 
 sometimes he had fancied that a blush or a quivering 
 of the eylids had answered; an illusion, perhaps. He 
 loved; and because he wanted to be loved in turn he 
 forged reasons to believe that he was. He knew the 
 obstacle: the candour and honesty of his thinking, 
 which had made him what he was, which had gained 
 by travel abroad, and had become hostile to the 
 established order of our hypocritical civilization. 
 He was a rebel, the legitimate object of the combined 
 efforts of all the powers. He knew it. He was not 
 displeased to find Montperrier before him as a repre- 
 sentative of this world, for his low greed must revolt 
 Claudia in time. But what if disgust came too late? 
 It was the decisive question which he dared not ask 
 himself, counting on the irresolute girl, who was 
 swimming with the current instead of waiting for the 
 
THE STRONGEST 231 
 
 lofty power of love. He lived in anxiety and ex- 
 quisite pain, at once desperate and hopeful, soaring 
 to the heights and falling into the abyss, eager for the 
 horizon to clear, when he should set his course by the 
 stars. 
 
 The look of apparently triumphant joy in Mont- 
 perrier's eyes startled Deschars from his reveries. 
 Without further argument with himself he made his 
 decision. 
 
 Some days later he found Claudia in the garden one 
 evening after dinner with Harle and Puymaufray. 
 The moment seemed propitious for conversation. 
 The girl, too, felt that something was going to be 
 defined between them. When she saw him come she 
 divined by the trembling of her own voice that the 
 hour had come for him, and for her. She hoped 
 that he would speak freely would open his heart 
 and get his chance. Perhaps a ray of light for her 
 would be struck off by his words the light of 
 reason, since it was reason she demanded now that 
 she had renounced the right to feel. 
 
 Twilight had come, the clear twilight of the first 
 days of spring. Lamps were lit, making wan spots 
 in the failing daylight. Dominic was marching 
 Henri round and round the grass plot, explaining 
 in all its details the certain success of his great pro- 
 ject. As the two men came and went with the reg- 
 ularity of clock work one lost in his own triumph, 
 the other oppressed by fear of what might be said a 
 
232 THE STRONGEST 
 
 few paces away from him tlie younger couple sat 
 down on a bench for the talk which might decide 
 their destiny. 
 
 "Well, mademoiselle," began Deschars, "is The 
 Marriage at Cana getting on?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all," answered Claudia, determined to 
 cut short the interview. "The Comtesse de Four- 
 champs will have to take over the reins, because M. 
 Montperrier, who has assumed control of everything, 
 talks a lot and does nothing." 
 
 "I'm surprised. You seemed so busy the other 
 day." 
 
 "He was telling me his tale of love. Why such 
 a face? It isn't the first time it's happened to him. 
 Oh, he didn't pretend it was a burning passion." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 "A gentle flame, with little clinkers, artistically 
 arranged. It isn't very warm, nor very magnificent, 
 but it may last under the ashes longer than great 
 fires." 
 
 "Let's see. That depends also on what's burning. 
 You know very well what M. Montperrier wants of 
 you." 
 
 "My money? I never doubted that. He does 
 me the honour not to allow any illusion on that 
 score, and I esteem him the more." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "It's very simple. Why does one want a wife? 
 For what she is, apparently. Well, I am I, with my 
 
THE STRONGEST 233 
 
 physical and moral beauty if I may use the word 
 and the social beauty of my wealth, which is just 
 as much a part of me as are my features or my in- 
 dividual characteristics. They will change with age 
 to my disadvantage; but my money will remain, 
 and grow. All of that is I, you see. I must be 
 accepted as I am. I can't be angry because I am 
 desired for my money any more than because I'm 
 loved for my eyes. However, I assure you that 
 although M. Montperrier doesn't talk poetry to me, 
 he is not insensible to my charms." 
 
 "Oh, it is terrible for you to talk that way. You 
 are killing me wilfully. Because even if I never 
 have told you, you know that I love you, forever: 
 for yourself, not for your father's money." 
 
 "Yes, I know it. And I am provoking you into 
 saying it after you have told me in so many other 
 ways, because the time has come for both of us to 
 look deeply into ourselves. You love me for myself, 
 you say. What does that mean? If my father were 
 ruined to-morrow you would remain faithful to me 
 and M. Montperrier would seek pastures new. 
 True. On the other hand, if I were suddenly afflicted 
 with a big red nose or were disfigured by an ac- 
 cident, M. Montperrier would gain the prize of 
 constancy while you, after noble attempts to cling 
 to the beauty of my soul, would be compelled to 
 confess yourself beaten." 
 
 "How can you joke about such things?" 
 
234 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "I am not joking. I am only transferring to my 
 own case the remark about Cleopatra's nose and the 
 destiny of the world. Do you dare to say that you 
 would love me if I were ugly?" 
 
 "I love you." 
 
 "You see. You cannot lie " 
 
 "I love you and M. Montperrier does not love 
 you." 
 
 "He loves something else in me. I wanted you to 
 understand " 
 
 "I understand nothing except that I fled from you 
 to the other end of the world and that I found you 
 everywhere but here, where, by the mischance of 
 life, there have been hours when I have not known 
 you at all." 
 
 "What to do? I know that you love me with a 
 pure love. I should be a miserable creature to deny 
 your disinterestedness, the nobility of your heart. 
 I do not love M. Montperrier in the sense in which 
 you understand the word. I will make you a more 
 complete confession. Without speaking of our old 
 friendship, I like you, and it makes me unhappy 
 to talk to you this way. But I must be loyal to my- 
 self and reason things out, if I lack courage to resist 
 the world. I suffer more than I can say for my- 
 self, for you, for my uncle, who, I am sure, would be 
 happy to leave me in your care. I know that in 
 certain circumstances I can't say what they are 
 I could have made real your dream." 
 
THE STRONGEST 235 
 
 "Well?" he queried, anxiously taking her hand. 
 
 "Well," she answered, painfully withdrawing 
 her hand from the gentle pressure, "those circum- 
 stances don't exist to-day. The way we think about 
 love has changed. To-day we reason it out. A man 
 may indulge himself in the luxury of the old style; 
 but I have to live the life of my time." 
 
 "And does modern life forbid love?" 
 
 "It puts it into another setting. Go to the park 
 at Versailles. You see what's left of the shepherd- 
 esses? It was a beautiful day-dream. Now we are 
 awake." 
 
 "And to what joys?" 
 
 "To the simple realities about which our descend- 
 ants may write poetry some day. Reality, if I 
 understand it, is the struggle of everybody against 
 everybody else. We must win or go under. We 
 women are for winning." 
 
 "Not all There are women " 
 
 "The conquerors have rights over us, I tell you. 
 You have dreamed of me in another r61e, and some- 
 thing within me pleads for you, I confess. However, 
 the attraction of victorious power, the glory of bril- 
 liant triumphs, carries me along with my time, in 
 spite of myself, and I let myself go. You do not 
 care about my vanities. It's very fine. But I am 
 only a woman. Everything carries me along to 
 those who are marching to victory. I have already 
 experienced the desire to command, and I feel, in 
 
236 THE STRONGEST 
 
 spite of myself, that the power of the world is the 
 strongest." 
 
 "I am a force, too. The triumph you are talking 
 about is play-acting. The world is a lie, and I 
 . . . I am the truth." 
 
 "A lie that lasts as long as life itself is very near 
 to the truth." 
 
 "You will be disabused to-morrow." 
 
 "No. Because I have no illusions and I see 
 whither I am going. For the life for which I am 
 preparing, all I need is marriage." 
 
 "And my crime is that I am offering you love, isn't 
 it? It is too much. I think I am going mad, and 
 forgive me for saying it I think you are going 
 mad yourself. You are young, beautiful, rich, 
 and mistress of your life. I know your spirit is 
 noble, no matter what you say, and I have seen you 
 when you were good-hearted. From your childhood 
 you have had the great good fortune of leaning on the 
 greatest affection, of the noblest heart I know. And 
 now all that is best in you, all you have imbibed of the 
 exquisite tenderness that has brooded over you and 
 loves you, is going to waste because the great fighter, 
 M. Harle, has a whim because Montperrier wants 
 your millions and makes a theory out of his own selfish 
 interests, or because the Comtesse de Fourchamps 
 has whispered poisonous advice in your ears " 
 
 "No. No. The countess did not need to advise 
 me. Her life is object lesson enough." 
 
THE STRONGEST 237 
 
 "All right, then. But her life is not Life. You 
 are taking a drawing room for the universe, and what 
 a drawing room!" 
 
 "The one into which my father brought me/' 
 "M. Harle cares for nothing but his business. 
 What you have discovered around you is appearances, 
 nothing else. Ah! If you could see through their 
 lying eyes down into the abyss of their souls. Some 
 day the veil will drop. Then remember our talk 
 of to-day. I'm not speaking for myself any more 
 because I know that I am lost. You want to reason, 
 because you do not love. Ah, if only you would 
 reason! Pardon! The moment is too serious for 
 me to hide my thoughts. You say to yourself: 
 'Love is an accident of life.' You set aside for love 
 what will remain of your soul wearied, used up, 
 grown old with the immense attempt at universal 
 conquest for the appearance of happiness. In the 
 madness of appearing to be, of deceiving yourself and 
 others, you are sacrificing for all your talk about 
 reality the most beautiful reality, the royal gen- 
 erosity of yourself in the power of love. You talk 
 about love without knowing what love is, and it 
 isn't your fault if it hasn't been awakened in you 
 yet. You do not know that you cannot make terms 
 with love, that it demands your whole being takes 
 it, transforms everything, you and the world both 
 and that, by the impetuous embrace of two lives, 
 the universe is made glorious so long as life endures. 
 
288 THE STRONGEST 
 
 You do not know, you could not know, these things, 
 and you are going to pronounce the most terrible sen- 
 tence upon yourself. How can you set life outside 
 your grasp before you have experienced it? If you 
 
 were like some women you know But you 
 
 have a heart! What torments you are laying up 
 for yourself in the future." 
 
 "I have listened to you, at least. I admire you. 
 And I am sorry for you. You have said some beauti- 
 ful things, and said them beautifully. I see only 
 one fault in them, and that is that they are all a 
 dream. You reproach me for knowing little of life 
 and nothing of love. But I know what everyone can 
 see. Do you know what has struck me most in this 
 great crowd of people? That they have tried every- 
 thing and nothing has succeeded. I see all the 
 possible combinations of fortunes, and age, and char- 
 acter, and feeling. Blonds with brunettes, rich with 
 poor, good with wicked (or even with good, if you 
 want), the ambitious with the indifferent or with 
 intriguers; all, I tell you, have been tried. And listen 
 to the cry of disappointment and rage rising from the 
 earth. I know that all these people said things to 
 each other, but they soon found out that it was all 
 an intoxication and when they were through with 
 tibeir folly they wept over themselves and cursed each 
 other and tore at each other. Your embrace of two 
 lives is a flash of light, with ashes forever after." 
 
 "So what hurts you in love is that it is too beauti- 
 
THE STRONGEST 239 
 
 ful. You would prefer it more commonplace. I 
 think it is unfortunate for you to feel that way before 
 you have attempted the adventure. You alone can 
 judge your strength and measure your desires with 
 it. You say that love is a common madness of 
 which everyone, or nearly everyone, eventually de- 
 spairs. Good. But how do you know whether 
 these men and women who cry out their eternal re- 
 gret for the great lost vision do not prefer their mis- 
 ery a hundred times to your bitter indifference? 
 How do you know that they do not carry one great 
 ecstasy with them, even to the grave? And then, 
 why do you want me to count the millions and mil- 
 lions that have fallen? Do you admit that in every 
 ten thousand centuries there are two who realize the 
 ideal of love? Is it not the noblest act of human 
 audacity to throw one's life into the chance, for the 
 highest achievement of life? You said to me one 
 day that you had thought I was brave. Must I 
 now turn the reproach upon you?" 
 
 " Courage is not insanity. Do you remember that 
 little poem about the apple blossom that was loved 
 by the bee? And when it became a little green apple 
 the mouse loved it. And when it was ripe, the 
 sparrow loved it. What shall I be ten years from 
 now or you?" 
 
 "Yes, it is a problem, to undergo the changes of 
 life harmoniously. Love performs this miracle be- 
 cause it renews itself." 
 
240 THE STRONGEST 
 
 "Or departs. For it is a miracle for two separate 
 lives to develop in the same setting of feelings and 
 wills. You can't risk your life on a conjectural 
 miracle. Don't I know that you consider my fortune 
 odious that if it vanished to-morrow you would 
 think it a stroke of luck for me? We don't feel the 
 same way on that point, my dear friend, and that 
 makes me afraid. I belong to the world, you see, 
 and cannot break away. I am in the camp of the 
 strongest, as my father calls them, and you are delib- 
 erately taking your place among the conquered. 
 Fortune, birth, the hazards of fate, group people 
 together for the victories of a day which you de- 
 spise, but in whose vanities I must find my happiness. 
 You do not believe in any of the things that I am 
 compelled to believe. You love none of the things 
 that I am destined to love." 
 
 "No. No. I will not let you say that. You 
 know that I love everything, everything on earth or 
 in life, or in heaven. I love mankind, and that is 
 what you probably have against me, at bottom. 
 I love a life of action yes, of action in my modest 
 sphere, in which the noble efforts of the past con- 
 tinue to work. I love life for the beauty of its 
 dreams. I love it even to the point of death which 
 brings forgetfulness of the sorrow of things. I do 
 not need to pigeonhole causes and effects, to bow 
 down before a word. I love you, I tell you, and I 
 am a conqueror, for the whole world will fall before 
 
THE STRONGEST 241 
 
 my will! I love you, and that is my way of praying 
 and adoring. I love everything at its highest, for I 
 will not belittle this eternal power so that one man 
 can oppress another by it. I love you, and my mad- 
 ness is such that I have put all my love into your 
 eyes. How proud I should be to make the whole 
 world seem enchanted to you 1 . You are punishing 
 me. So be it! I will undergo the punishment 
 proudly. A dream as beautiful as mine can leave 
 joy behind even when it is vanished, even in the 
 sadness of your reality!" 
 
 Claudia, beaten, was silent for a time. Then, 
 very softly: 
 
 "Who knows?" she murmured. "Perhaps you 
 are right. But you cannot reason about everything. 
 I couldn't do what you will do, create a bitter felicity 
 for myself out of the wreck of a dream. Each one 
 of us has his fate. And mine, as M. Montperrier 
 says, is a combination of self-interests." 
 
 "You, you alone will create your fate." 
 
 "No. I tell you that it is the world which tempts 
 me and wants me. It is the sum of all the forces to 
 which all my money-power is due. And I am going 
 in for the pleasures of ruling the world, which you 
 caU false and perhaps you are right." 
 
 "I shall be eternally unhappy to see you perish 
 without being able to lift a hand. I beg you, help 
 yourself, help yourself while yet there is time. In 
 spite of everything, your eyes have not deceived me. 
 
242 THE STRONGEST 
 
 Something within you will rebel against the fate that 
 you have chosen." 
 
 "Then sha'n't I be as free as the rest to seek 
 whatever diversions may come? You know very 
 well that the world allows everything to the 
 strongest." 
 
 "No. You will not want that." 
 
 "Very well, then, I will have forgetfulness." 
 
 "You cannot always forget when you want to." 
 
 "Perhaps. I know some ways " 
 
 He had risen. 
 
 "Au revoir? or good-bye?" he asked. 
 "Au revoir. Won't you always be my friend?" 
 "Yes, I think so, but far from you very far. 
 When I say 'good-bye' it will be forever." 
 
 He took the hand she gave him and fancied he felt 
 a shudder of sorrow pass through it. He was about 
 to cry out, to make a last effort. But with a de- 
 spairing movement the hand was taken from his, 
 and Deschars dropped into the night as if the last 
 thread that had kept him suspended over the abyss 
 had snapped. 
 
 Claudia remained seated, repeating the words, 
 "When I say 'good-bye* it will be forever." 
 
 "And yet, if in my extremity I should call him?" 
 she thought. "Where would he be then? I shall 
 have my uncle, my poor uncle. ... What will 
 happen to him? Oh, if I resigned myself to his ideal 
 of happiness I should rebel the next day, and he would 
 
THE STRONGEST 243 
 
 suffer as much as I should. He would suffer more, 
 because it would be his fault." 
 
 Harle's voice was heard at the other end of the 
 garden. The two strollers had stopped by a clump 
 of trees and Puymaufray, listening for the slightest 
 sound, was nervously hearing a lecture on the use of 
 the masses in the interests of the few. If he had not 
 had his cigar he could not have concealed his anxiety 
 which grew more intense as time sped. Finally 
 Claudia appeared alone. It was over. The battle 
 was lost. 
 
 "How's that, baby?" Harle cried. "Has M. Des- 
 chars gone without saying good-night?" 
 
 "He didn't want to disturb you," answered Claudia. 
 "You seemed so absorbed in each other. He asked 
 me to make his excuses." 
 
 "It's true," observed Dominic, "that I've been 
 interested in this conversation. There's nothing 
 like expressing your ideas for clearing them up in 
 your own mind best of all if you array them in 
 battle order under the enemy's eyes. For you 
 are the enemy, my poor friend. We shall never 
 agree." 
 
 A movement of the shoulders was Henri's only 
 answer. Talkative and noisy, with vibrant content- 
 ment in his voice, Harle moved toward the salon 
 where the lamps cast a halo of light. The others 
 followed in silence. Claudia had an impulse to fling 
 herself upon her uncle, to cry, to weaken totally, in 
 
244 THE STRONGEST 
 
 reaction from the stiffness of the hour that had just 
 passed: Henri was oppressed, trembled with an 
 irresistible necessity to follow the fleeing Deschars, 
 to bring him back, to take both these children in his 
 arms and say: "Love one another." 
 
 Who knows what might have come if he had been 
 able to win Claudia at that moment? If he could 
 shame her and prevent her from sacrificing her 
 youth in a fit of madness? But the other one was 
 there, father by the will of society and by the law, 
 imperious, jovial, invincible the strongest! 
 
 Hardly had Puymaufray gone when Harle seized 
 both Claudia's hands and, looking deep into her 
 eyes, demanded: 
 
 "Well, did vou settle account with your noble 
 lover?" 
 
 "I? How did you know?" 
 
 "Don't I always know what I need to know? 
 Do you think I had to hang around at your rehearsals 
 in order to know what was going on?" 
 
 "I would like to know whether you've been told 
 everything?" said Claudia, anxious to discover 
 whether the countess had spoken about Montperrier. 
 
 "I know what I ought to know. That's enough." 
 
 "And you never said anything to me." 
 
 "Why should I insult you by doubting your good 
 sense? You're my daughter, I suppose. Still better, 
 you are my pupil, and I am proud to say it. I have 
 worked and I am triumphing for you, for us. Surely 
 
THE STRONGEST 245 
 
 my life is an example and a far better lesson than all 
 the preaching of your uncle?" 
 
 "And you aren't a bit afraid that his sermons 
 could turn me from your way of thinking?" 
 
 "Not a bit. I know old Henri. He wastes him- 
 self in dreams. The happiness he wants for you is 
 inevitably what he would want for himself, after a 
 wasted life. Deschars is his friend: there is a natural 
 affinity between useless men. I understood all right 
 that he would be happy if there were a marriage. 
 But what could he say that would prevail in your 
 soul where I am glad to recognize myself against 
 the definite clear lessons of the world? So I never 
 lectured you. Lectures don't change youth." 
 
 "Uncle loves me very much." 
 
 "Love him, too. But don't obey him." 
 
 "And yet, if he were right!" 
 
 "If he were right he wouldn't be a victim of life 
 and I shouldn't be at the height of success. Because 
 we're going to be kings, little one, simply kings! 
 Do you want to be a queen?" 
 
 "I certainly do. Especially if there aren't any 
 revolutions." 
 
 "Silly! The show-kings are overthrown. There 
 are no revolutions against money. There is no power 
 against the strongest." 
 
 When Claudia had gone to her room she thought 
 over her father's words, and although she felt their 
 truth she could not get over a vague fear of the un- 
 
246 THE STRONGEST 
 
 known. Deschars in his despair had spoken with 
 such a sureness of thought, she felt that he was sus- 
 tained by so profound a faith in the power of love, 
 that she stopped, despite her settled will, before an 
 irreparable act. Was it true that love can carry us 
 to the dizzy heights where nothing of earth can touch 
 us? Perhaps. But it must be love. 
 
 "I'm not in love," thought Claudia. "Maurice 
 himself told me so. 'You are reasoning, because you 
 don't love.' Then why this anxiety, this torment, 
 this fear" of myself which I am hiding from everyone? 
 Why did the terrible word 'good-bye' make my heart 
 cold with everlasting despair? Why do I feel the 
 need of seeing him again him before I abandon 
 myself to my fate, to ask him to forgive me?" 
 
 While Claudia vainly sought sleep Deschars told 
 the dismal tale to Puymaufray. All night he re- 
 peated the story incoherently, with exclamations of 
 despair. 
 
 "You are my only hope," Deschars repeated. 
 "All I can do is love her. I shall always love 
 her. Suppose they have made her so that she can 
 no longer? love; suppose they have killed the noble 
 heart she got from her mother, in order to make her 
 greater and more beautiful? I have lost all power, 
 all energy of living. I came here confident, joyous, 
 as sure of her as of myself. You see, I didn't 
 know what to do. And here I am crying when I 
 ought to snatch her away, in spite of herself, and 
 
THE STRONGEST 247 
 
 carry her off. But if her heart is really dead, what 
 use is it?" 
 
 For hours they sat there face to face, broken, silent, 
 without thoughts, when, at dawn, a hurried step in 
 the ante-room startled them, the door opened brus- 
 quely, and Nanette appeared on the threshold. 
 
 "You stopped writing," she said, "and here I am." 
 
 She could say no more. The sight of Henri 
 pale, defeated, with haggard eyes and deep furrows 
 in his ravaged face frightened her. She under- 
 stood. Without asking useless questions she said: 
 
 "At any rate, our little girl isn't dead. I have 
 come. Now we shall see." 
 
 And when she was alone with Henri: 
 
 "Come, tell me the whole thing. I won't whisper 
 a word of it." 
 
 When he had told her the old woman went on: 
 
 "It's true that the child spoke cruelly, but what 
 does that prove? That she doesn't love M. Des- 
 chars, and has told him Heaven knows what stories 
 in order to soften the blow. We have to find out 
 what she thinks herself. I believe, as you do, that 
 Maurice would have made her a fine husband, but 
 there are others. The important thing is that she 
 must not marry this M. Montperrier whom you men- 
 tion. I'll see to that ! But first, let's get some rest." 
 
 Under the pretext of being tired to death she made 
 Henri, too, prepare for bed, and refusing to talk 
 left him, so that he had a much-needed sleep. 
 
248 THE STRONGEST 
 
 When Henri woke, after midday, Nanette was 
 already at Harle's home. Claudia welcomed her 
 affectionately, but could not hide her fatigue and 
 nervousness after a sleepless night. Her features 
 were sadly drawn, her face trembled perceptibly, and 
 the bright eyes and dry, vibrant voice seemed good 
 signs to Nanette. She said that, since Puymaufray 
 hadn't written, she thought he was ill. She made no 
 allusion to topics which might arouse resentment. 
 She only said that things weren't going at all well at 
 Ste. Radegonde. 
 
 "You can't imagine, ma'm'selle, how much they 
 need you down there. Everybody. Because what 
 they need more than anything else is a kind word. 
 M. Harle has installed new machinery and enlarged 
 the plant. They say it's producing double already. 
 And while the owner is growing richer, the rules for 
 the workers are becoming harder. The foremen 
 have got orders. There is a lot of discontent. You 
 ought to be there to see it. You ought to come down 
 for a fortnight. Your interests are involved, too, 
 ma'm'selle." 
 
 "I'll speak to my father, but I can't leave Paris. 
 There are unfortunates everywhere, dear Nanette, 
 not at Ste. Radegonde alone. I am busy with a 
 charity bazaar." 
 
 "You are my own dear. Tell me what it is. Per- 
 haps I could give you a hand." 
 
 "Yes, of course. I have a flower booth. Nat- 
 
THE STRONGEST 249 
 
 urally I'll have helpers. But if you want you may 
 stick close to me and you'll be a great help." 
 
 " I shall be very happy. When will it take place? ' f 
 
 "In four days. You'll have to make yourself 
 pretty." 
 
 "Not too pretty, so as not to humiliate the poor." 
 
 " Oh ! The poor won't be there." 
 
 "So much the worse. It's a pleasure you're deny- 
 ing yourself." 
 
 Four days later Nanette, who had with difficulty 
 persuaded Henri to drop his funereal air, arrived at 
 the gardens of the Oppert mansion, marvellously 
 decorated for the bazaar. It was a fairyland. 
 Booths strung with ribbons, flowers, banners setting 
 the April foliage ablaze; crowds of young sellers in 
 gay costumes, a rout of colours, cries, laughter; 
 against the distant background an invisible orches- 
 tra. Nanette's eyes and mouth opened simulta- 
 neously. 
 
 "Oh, Ma'm'selle Claudia," she cried, "is that how 
 you do charity in Paris?" 
 
 Claudia's booth a great flowering nook of mi- 
 mosas, orchids, roses, and lilacs was the guerdon 
 of youth on the armour of spring. She was dressed 
 in a simple white foulard, a striking contrast to the 
 bright colours of the setting, showing her melancholy 
 smile in sharp relief. Each passer-by received a 
 bouquet from one of her aides, and was allowed to 
 leave an offering on the silver plate. Groups gath- 
 
THE STRONGEST 
 
 ered in the aisles, around the grass plots, sheltered 
 from the springtime sun. Visitors passed by, with 
 a smile or a nod, or stopped for a brief conversation. 
 
 Deschars and Puymaufray came in turn. They 
 tried not to linger lest they might interfere with 
 sales. Deschars was very calm, as if nobly pitying. 
 Puymaufray took the two flowers that Claudia and 
 Nanette offered him, and, with an affectionate smile, 
 put them in his buttonhole. Montperrier diplo- 
 matically made but a slight stop at the booth and 
 negligently dropped some bills on the plate. The 
 dowry was already in action. Deschars's two louis 
 for a rose seemed mean in comparison. Nanette, 
 whose sole duty was to hand out bouquets, listened 
 and admired but understood nothing. 
 
 Lunch served on little tables amid the flowers 
 brought the group together. Claudia and Harle, with 
 the countess and the baron, were first; then came 
 Mme. du Peyrouard, followed by Montperrier. Des- 
 chars could not be found, and Puymaufray had made 
 some excuse. Over the champagne the baron asked 
 to be introduced to Nanette and insisted that she 
 clink glasses with him to the health of Puymaufray. 
 
 "With great pleasure, M'sieur le Baron, although 
 I don't believe in wishes. My father used to say 
 that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." 
 
 "Your father must have been a singular sort of 
 person/' answered the baron, gaily. "Still, a wish 
 is a nice thing. And besides, there must be 
 
THE STRONGEST 251 
 
 pedestrians. Or what should we do with the 
 sidewalks?" 
 
 In the evening they balanced accounts. Counting 
 the sale of tickets for the tableaux vivants they had 
 taken in two hundred and eighteen thousand francs 
 of which Claudia had taken nearly forty thousand. 
 Lucienne Preban herself had only taken in thirty- 
 seven thousand. It was a triumph which Claudia 
 and Harle both savoured. They were bound to be 
 grateful to Montperrier who had unostentatiously 
 herded all the government people down in front of the 
 booth. To him Claudia owed her three thousand 
 francs advantage over Lucienne Preban, as the 
 countess pointed out. Harle was particularly grate- 
 ful to the young man for a cleverly arranged conver- 
 sation with the Minister of the Interior, president 
 of the Council, who, after complimenting Claudia, 
 announced that he was deeply interested in the 
 Universal Daily, announcements of which had been 
 posted on every billboard within the past eight days. 
 
 When they left the Faubourg St. Honore, Claudia 
 and Nanette got out of their carriage at the Rond- 
 point des Champs-Elysees and started to walk to- 
 ward the Place de PEtoile, so that Claudia could get 
 rid of a headache, due to too much talking, she said. 
 
 They had hardly gone ten steps when a very de- 
 cently dressed old woman accosted them in a low 
 voice, holding out a trembling hand. Claudia, 
 unable to find her purse, shook her head. Nanette 
 
252 THE STRONGEST 
 
 was shocked by the contrast between the refusal and 
 the sumptuous charity of the hour before. 
 
 She stopped and gave the old woman a one-franc 
 piece. At the sight of the silver coin the beggar was 
 convulsed with sobs and cried in a choking voice: 
 "Oh, thank you, madame, thank you. If you only 
 knew! If you could only know! I will pray for 
 
 you I will pray." And she started to run 
 
 madly toward the faubourg, disappearing before 
 they could ask a question. 
 
 "Oh, Lord," groaned Nanette. "To think that 
 there are people so miserable that the sight of a 
 franc puts them into such a state!" 
 
 "Well, you see, we give. I gave forty thousand 
 francs to-day." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 "I don't know. To people I'll never see." 
 
 "You wouldn't do that at Ste. Radegonde, Ma'm'- 
 selle Claudia. It is good to see the unfortunate, to 
 listen to them and to talk to them. It is a good thing 
 for us." 
 
 "Yes, my uncle says that." 
 
 "He does that, too." 
 
 "Do you think, Nanette, that he ever gave forty 
 thousand francs in one day like me?" 
 "Not in his whole life. But he has given more. 
 He has given his friendship, his trouble, he has sym- 
 pathized, and he has been loved for it. He is loved. 
 Do you think you can weigh goodness on the scale 
 
THE STRONGEST 253 
 
 with money? You get hundreds and thousands out 
 of people and have a good time doing it, and you 
 don't ever take the trouble to find out whom you 
 are helping with all that money. And you think 
 you are doing more than the finest man on earth. 
 And here a miserable woman asks you for alms. You 
 pass by without ever caring to know anything about 
 her. She almost fainted for joy for a franc, and if 
 you had given her only one of your gloves she could 
 have lived on it for three or four years." 
 
 Claudia looked at her gloves, each button of which 
 was a small pearl, a refinement of luxury disapproved 
 of by Henri but done in imitation of the countess. 
 
 "It is settled," she thought, angrily. "They are 
 all in a conspiracy against my pleasures." 
 
 And Nanette, who could not remain silent under a 
 reproach and from Claudia, upon her Henri was 
 suddenly calm. 
 
 "I've made a stupid mistake," she said to herself. 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 TTTC Universal Daily was only a month old and 
 its success had already passed beyond the 
 hopes of its founders. All the statesmen of 
 the Republic acclaimed Dominic Harle's stroke of 
 genius. He understood the masses which, as he 
 loved to say, would rather be informed than taught. 
 
 "The busy man," he would say to Oppert, "can't 
 be bothered. He wants to know approximately and 
 quickly what is going on around him. Between 
 smokes you have to provide him with a very simple 
 judgment more or less agreeing with present-day 
 ideas, which he must respect in order to live. My 
 idea is to give it to him, also to his wife, busy with 
 housekeeping or a new dress. Every man must 
 find his support in the accepted opinions of society 
 in order to take his share in the common life. 
 Whether they are prejudices or eternal truths does 
 not matter. The thinkers of the next century will 
 decide that as they please. A solid basis of current 
 ideas that's the surest foundation of life." 
 
 "Splendid, my dear friend," agreed the baron. 
 "Never forget it. Look at the great public we've 
 won simply by putting our social catechism in the 
 
 254 
 
THE STRONGEST 255 
 
 form of anecdotes. Stick to that, for your life. 
 And, above all, don't let them suspect that you want 
 to influence them. Just omit or colour your infor- 
 mation. What you need is the trick of it." 
 
 Since he had conceived the programme, Harle 
 had the glory of realizing it. As the conqueror is 
 surrounded by warriors the paper-maker, by the 
 mere power of action, found himself surrounded by 
 the elite. He counted among his readers the farmers, 
 the shepherds on the mountain slopes, and the crown- 
 ed heads of Europe. It was his triumph. 
 
 The factory at Ste. Radegonde expanded enor- 
 mously. Crowds of builders descended on the village, 
 and there was a constant procession of new machines 
 behind the high walls they erected. Every day 
 came new orders for further development. It 
 seemed that there could be no limit. The number of 
 employes had more than doubled and recruiting still 
 continued. Whole cities were thrown up for the* 
 workers, with schoolhouses, aid stations, shops, and 
 chapels, keeping pace with the factory. It was a 
 whole city of men, women, and children, chained to 
 the machine for their living, and chained by their 
 living to the one who set them to work, for they 
 were dependent on the master for every need of 
 body and soul, by his wages compelled to yield, 
 to kneel before his benevolence, as enslaved as were 
 ever those serfs whose emancipation we celebrate 
 with such gratitude to ourselves. A change in the 
 
256 THE STRONGEST 
 
 name, as the baron said, and under the changing 
 words the everlasting mastery of the strongest. 
 
 The dismantled old town had rebuilt itself magni- 
 ficently, losing only the picturesque beauty of its 
 ancient walls. The feudal chief had returned, 
 master of human lives, dispensing joy in his benevo- 
 lence, or punishment in anger; decreeing with a dark- 
 ening brow that chains should be restored, or shifted, 
 or decreeing death. The murderous selfishness of 
 the strongest remains unchanged in the various set- 
 tings of changing society and revives under new names 
 the slaveries abolished under the old. Is there any 
 law but the law of force between those that want to 
 mount and those that have reached the heights 
 and wish to intensify their superiority? 
 
 "When all the forms of the abuse of power have 
 been exhausted," Baron Oppert said, "then the 
 peace of perfect justice will reign on earth." 
 
 "I can't wait until then," answered Harle, whose 
 activity was spreading from Paris to Ste. Radegonde 
 with a new fury. 
 
 Harle was not cruel and took as little pleasure as 
 did his hero Napoleon in the torturous sufferings 
 on which his glory was built. He was insensitive 
 merely, like an accountant who never wonders what 
 his figures may prove. It is the mastering force for 
 the leaders of men on the road to the great slaughter- 
 houses of war or industry. What could a Puymau- 
 fray know of it? 
 
THE STRONGEST 57 
 
 "Well, will you admit now that I was right?** 
 Harle" asked his friend. "Am I or am I not master 
 of the great social forces which guide the world? 
 I am not speaking of money, which is only the ex- 
 pression of the whole thing. Look at the poor 
 wretches who say they have power and tell me if 
 any one of them really governs the masses more 
 effectively than I do. That's because I have really 
 understood this great enemy, the mob, the terror 
 of the governing classes, and I was able to formulate 
 its spirit. And now, since I've got the crowd I've 
 got everybody dependent on me, everybody who 
 wants to do anything. The opposition is fighting 
 shadows. The governments obey me and the Church 
 is friendly because my foundations are dug deep. 
 It is I who keep the Government by the strongest in 
 action, according to our modern formulas." 
 
 "Possibly," said Henri. "But I still say that the 
 weak will have their day, too." 
 
 "But they have it now, my friend. Every day 
 that passes is theirs. Look about you. They come 
 into our ranks one by one, they share in our advan- 
 tages, enter into our spirit and our interests: they 
 become more ardent than we are in the battle against 
 the weaker." 
 
 "I am speaking of justice for all." 
 
 "That's for heaven: I am not impious k I don't 
 want to realize it here.'* 
 
 Claudia listened to this discussion, which she had 
 
258 THE STRONGEST 
 
 heard so often, and for the first time it struck home 
 to her. Her father's situation had become unreas- 
 onably greater and puffed her with a pride of power 
 corrupting the finer qualities of her spirit. Dazzled 
 by a vision of royalty she let herself be carried farther 
 and farther away along the mad current, away from 
 her uncle, a sad rebel against the union of the strong- 
 est to dominate the earth. Unquestionably she loved 
 him, wanted to love him. But what could she do if 
 they could not agree, " since their tastes were not of the 
 same world ? " she asked. For henceforth she thought 
 of herself as of the aristocracy, and the Marquis de 
 Puymaufray was sinking into utter treason. 
 
 It was incredible but Harle was even now only a 
 chevalier of the Legion d'Honneur. The minister him- 
 self had brought him the decoration apologizing for 
 not doing more at the moment. A friendly interview 
 followed and the head of the Universal Daily was 
 pleased to promise his protection to the Cabinet 
 member. 
 
 "I've never read anything of yours," he said. "I 
 am too busy doing things to find time to read. But 
 capable judges tell me that you know a lot and have 
 a ready pen. I know that you didn't always defend 
 the right side. It seems that you were once very 
 radical, some few years ago. But youth must pass! 
 It is past, isn't it? If it is, you can be sure I'll be 
 happy if I can ever serve you." 
 
THE STRONGEST 259 
 
 The statesman bowed, deeply embarrassed by 
 this frankness. Harle was afraid of frightening him 
 and wanted to show that he was a good fellow. 
 
 "I assure you," he said, as he might have said 
 'thank you' for a light, "I'm pleased with your little 
 ribbon. I see you haven't anything in your button- 
 hole. Pity. You ought to set a good example." 
 
 "But, M. Harle," said the minister, "it was to set 
 a good example that the Government gave you " 
 
 "I admit that you couldn't do it without us. The 
 great handlers of men will always be kings of the 
 earth, and I say that without false modesty." 
 
 "Kings? How do you mean that? The Re- 
 public " 
 
 "Of course. I know that tune. I am more of a 
 republican than you are, my dear minister, because 
 the Republic is me! Ah! you do not protest? In 
 the old days kings clad themselves in armour and 
 put ridiculous crowns on their heads in order to 
 govern the people. Duels to the death were fash- 
 ionable in those days. Public opinion demanded 
 it. You had to fight. The King had his choice of 
 opponents. That's all. It wasn't very grand. 
 In any case, it's done with. Since Napoleon there's 
 nothing to be done but strictly mathematical slaugh- 
 ter. The human race nowadays wants to live, and 
 that is what we, simple, middle-class people, are here 
 for. We satisfy their need. We set people to work. 
 What else do they want? They produce and they 
 
260 THE STRONGEST 
 
 live: that is a great step ahead of the time when they 
 massacred each other. I think that service is worth 
 its tithe, don't you? They will talk a long time 
 about the tax. Fortunately, with your help, we our- 
 selves fix the rate of taxation, and I think that's right 
 because that's just where you get your spirit of enter- 
 prise, which makes our usefulness so superior. So- 
 called thinkers deny our right to the gratitude of the 
 crowd. Why shouldn't they be grateful to us who 
 distribute the wherewithal of life, since they have 
 never stopped praising those that led them into 
 slaughter? There's only one answer to the dreamers. 
 Human justice means the liberty of everybody, lead- 
 ing to the sovereign authority of the strongest, 
 through the ways of peace, as formerly through the 
 paths of war. That is why, my dear sir, you are 
 decorating me in the name of the Republic. Isn't 
 that so?" 
 
 "I admire your lucidity of expression, sir, and the 
 rigorous logic of your deductions." 
 
 "We shall meet again. Please present my compli- 
 ments to the President of the Republic." 
 
 It was on the night of the tableaux vivants that 
 Harle came to his apotheosis. The rehearsals had 
 languished suddenly; all minds were in suspense 
 owing to the number of great ideas. From day to 
 day they ha'd quarrelled. However, the time came 
 when everything was ready, even The Marriage at 
 
THE STRONGEST 261 
 
 Cana which had to be composed quite differently 
 from Veronese's conception. When they went down 
 to the Salon Carre to look for ideas, Montperrier 
 and Alphonse de Valbois were stupefied to find that 
 in all its magnificence the picture gave place to but 
 three women besides the Saviour and His Mother. 
 It was impossible to think of putting a little dog on 
 the table, or to show a princess picking her teeth. 
 The genius of De Valbois was therefore freed from 
 the shackling necessity of making a servile copy, 
 and he gave himself free rein. The richness of the 
 costumes, for which Morgan's knowledge had been 
 invoked, with the splendour of young faces, made a 
 spectacle highly agreeable to the eye. 
 
 Harle had given free hand to his architect. It is 
 enough to mention that fact. The splendour of the 
 decorations surpassed anything ever seen in that 
 style. The Aged and Incorrigible might well have 
 been proud of the magnificent effort of charity made 
 in their behalf. No one can say whether any one 
 there gave a thought to the lamentable debris of 
 humanity which expiates the crime of poverty under 
 our eyes. Harle generously wrote off the forty 
 thousand francs which his house-warming cost him 
 to their account. So in that sense they were present 
 in his memory. 
 
 At the very beginning they had distributed all the 
 available seats, but requests for more flowed in. The 
 rumour that marvels were to be seen was current. 
 
262 THE STRONGEST 
 
 In addition to Paris, the Prince de Luques carried 
 all of America in his train, for it is a great point to 
 have your name cabled home in good company for 
 newspaper readers in the New World. Besides, 
 they had to see Harle, the man of the hour, talk to 
 him, congratulate him, pay homage to him in passing, 
 and inscribe one's name in his good books, if occasion 
 should arise. With prodigious skill they managed to 
 give place to everyone who, for any reason, seemed 
 to have a right to one. 
 
 It was a colossal success; there were shouts of 
 admiration, applause, a very storm of men of the 
 world. The Queen of Sheba and Solomon brought 
 forth cries of praise. The two Indian tableaux, and 
 especially the Temptation of Buddha, were no less 
 well received. The happiest moment was when the 
 artists mingled with the audience after the final 
 tableau. Everyone wanted to see the marvellous 
 costumes close at hand, to praise the designs, to 
 touch the material, to find out if they were in style, 
 to obtain some information concerning this queer 
 Indian prince who looked idly at his fingernails 
 while so rare a troupe of dancing girls were suggesting 
 other matters for his attention. A discreet note 
 written by Deschars for the programme told in 
 advance everything that had to be known. But 
 the indifference of the "forerunner," as the countess 
 called him, was none the less the subject of the most 
 ironic comments. 
 
THE STRONGEST 263 
 
 Lucienne Preban, a frigid golden idol, strolled 
 through the respectful crowd under a mask of indif- 
 ference, the enigma of her weariness. The countess 
 royally arrayed, darting insolent flames from her 
 armoury of jewels softened the effect of her theat- 
 rical pride with her captivating smile. Claudia was 
 like an opium eater's vision of paradise. She spark- 
 led with countless spangles and was dressed in a rain- 
 bow of gauze which revealed, perhaps a little too 
 frankly, the still uncertain lines of youth: her dark 
 face was lit up with twin suns. The excessive hom- 
 age of the crowd followed her and enveloped her. 
 She savoured it proudly and became drunk with its 
 delicious fumes. She forgot everything: her uncle 
 miserably thrown about by the crowd, prey to de- 
 spair. Deschars, seeing her pass with her veils, 
 thought of the time when, lost in a strange land, he 
 had been happy collecting these things to adorn her 
 whom he loved. 
 
 Both of them felt far removed from the thought 
 which had been haunting them. In order to avoid 
 seeing the madness of those evocative eyes, which 
 seemed like a profanation of Claire's soul to him, 
 Puymaufray departed, mad with despair. 
 
 "This time," he thought, "everything is lost, and 
 it's my fault. I promised to give my life to save my 
 child, to protect from the dirtiness of the world all 
 that remains of the most beautiful dream of love. 
 All I managed to do was to preach, and Claudia, 
 
264 THE STRONGEST 
 
 glad to get away from me, is throwing herself 
 into the depths. What could I do? Dominic was 
 there, taking his revenge every day. I am only a 
 dreamer, he says. Perhaps that is what gave me 
 my supreme happiness, just as it causes my misery 
 to-day." 
 
 Deschars had fled, like a criminal hurrying to hide 
 his shame. 
 
 Meantime, the joys of the fte were growing, with 
 music, gallantry, laughter, and intrigues. Mme. du 
 Peyrouard a lady in waiting in the court of the 
 Queen of Sheba was to be seen wherever a word 
 had to be said, and her brother, Etienne Mont- 
 perrier, was not far off. It is a thankless task for an 
 actor to be ever on the stage, but it brings its reward 
 sooner or later. It is a mixture of work and pleasure 
 in which he sometimes confuses life with the part 
 he is playing. 
 
 Montperrier spied on the dancing girl at a distance 
 and concluded from the pride in her eyes that he would 
 profit from this triumph. Claudia, living in every 
 fibre, drank deep draughts of this enchanted life, 
 and walked in a dream of a royal fairyland. Feasted 
 with all the eager looks bent upon her, hearing the 
 hum of swarming adulation, the agitated girl said to 
 herself : " The world is mine : I can do everything." 
 She did not understand that the world had taken 
 her and that her imaginary power was only the cur- 
 rent which was carrying away her life. Alas! 
 
THE STRONGEST 265 
 
 how could she escape the common illusion when 
 everything conspired for falsehood, when the true 
 happiness, repulsed by her, was gone with the man 
 who could do nothing for her but love her. 
 
 She neither saw nor sought to find her "uncle" 
 her father bowed under the weight of the useless 
 treasure of his love. She was struck by the brilliant 
 desire which was masked under homage and adora- 
 tion. What did she care if they were making cal- 
 culations on her, since she was doing the same, and 
 had all the advantage. "I can do everything." 
 What was she to do with this power? She was mis- 
 tress of her life. Should she let her heart speak? 
 Trust herself to her uncle who loved her and whom 
 she loved? say to the gallant young man who had 
 shown her the high road: "I am with you, let our 
 destiny be one?" No. The only thought she had 
 of this liberty to act was to increase, and increase 
 forever, the extent of her domination. And the 
 choice of a husband came down to no more than 
 this: a computation of how much power she could 
 demand in return for the power of her wealth. 
 It was for this commerce that she was going to 
 sacrifice her youth, her life, and even the hope of 
 love. 
 
 The nobility, ruined or not, has always sought its 
 bath of gold, even if it had to seek it in the depths. 
 "Duchess" -thought^Claudia " that's only a name. 
 I must have more." She looked at Montperrier, 
 
266 THE STRONGEST 
 
 lavishing his gifts on everybody, sought for, loved, 
 envied, saluted for the power he would have. He 
 was, like Harle, a man of action. In their different 
 spheres these two forces could agree, could combine 
 for a development of sovereignty of which she would 
 be the magnificent flower. Oh, it was not the ideal 
 of the philosophers, of course! But what could her 
 uncle or Deschars offer to compare with this magic 
 of happy life which her father's salon made real? 
 Who could avoid the dazzling splendour? Who could 
 help getting dizzy? 
 
 The spectacle was beautiful enough, for the elite 
 of Paris society was bowing down before the all- 
 powerful Harle, a living proof of the accuracy of 
 Claudia's calculations. Oppert had his proper share 
 o praise for his charity. Even after Harle and after 
 Baron Oppert, Montperrier shone with the beauty 
 of a rising star. What Claudia admired above all 
 was the great modesty of a man who was saturated 
 with triumph. 
 
 "What is all this" he seemed to say "compared 
 with what is coming?" 
 
 As the evening was ending he came up to Claudia 
 to say good-night i 
 
 "Well, are you satisfied?" he asked. "You know 
 that all we did was for your pleasure." 
 
 "In that case you have succeeded beyond 
 my hopes. This will be a red-letter day in my 
 life." 
 
THE STRONGEST 267 
 
 "How happy I should be if I dared to think that I 
 might be part of that memory no matter how slight 
 a part." 
 
 "You mil dare unless I misjudge you utterly." 
 
 He looked into the very depths of her eyes. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he answered, "I thank you for 
 saying that. My pride will keep me from taking 
 advantage of it. A man can't offer himself to a 
 queen. The queen always chooses those whom she 
 thinks fit to serve her. If some day you want me to 
 serve you, make a sign." 
 
 He held out his hand and Claudia put hers in it 
 gently, as if held back by a last regret. 
 
 At the other end of the room the Comtesse de 
 Fourchamps found her two hands imprisoned in 
 those of Harle, who would not let her go. She, seemed 
 very serious and Montperrier caught her last words 
 in passing: 
 
 "No, no, my dear friend. We must wait until 
 to-morrow. Then we will talk." 
 
 Very much at home, before a console heaped with 
 flowers, Harle's chief reporter was making notes : 
 
 "The great world of Parisian charity was gathered 
 last night in the salon of M. Harle, our illustrious 
 confrere. The salon was decorated with the magni- 
 ficence peculiar to those whose generosity rises be- 
 yond the common " 
 
 And, pale with rage, the reporter muttered: 
 
 "If I could but tear off the masks, expose these 
 
268 THE STRONGEST 
 
 people naked to the world, tell what impulses brought 
 each one here; reveal the inner truth, the awakening 
 desires, the intrigues, the low greed, the sterility 
 of their minds, the poverty of their hearts! Ah! 
 what misery for the rich and what a revenge for me!" 
 
P 
 
 CHAPTER XTV 
 
 UYMAUFRAY went to call on Claudia the 
 next afternoon. He sent his name up. In 
 reply he received this brief note: 
 
 DEAR UNCLE: 
 I haven't slept. I'll be dressed in an hour. 
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Although she had not slept, Claudia was already 
 active and a note had been despatched to Deschars 
 with this command: 
 
 Come to-night after dinner. 
 
 She wanted, however, to set her ideas in order a 
 little more for her uncle. The explanation to him 
 was the only one she feared. 
 
 Puymaufray wandered about at haphazard and 
 spent his hour turning the dagger in his wound, 
 telling himself a thousand times that he had done 
 nothing, and asking himself a thousand times: 
 "What could I do?" The supreme trial had come. 
 A remnant of hope intensified the anguish of his 
 
270 THE STRONGEST 
 
 eternal question: "What words, what appeal can I 
 find to awaken my child, to make Claire live again?" 
 
 He was at the end of the tether, exhausted with his 
 suffering, when he came into the little white room 
 where Claudia waited for him, herself in a state of 
 nervous tension due to the party of the previous 
 night and aggravated by the emotions of the battle 
 she was fighting. Puymaufray saw Claudia pale, 
 shaking, with bright eyes and a dry voice hostile; 
 and after a perfunctory embrace, as of gladiators in 
 the arena, he received her direct attack. 
 
 "My dear Uncle, you probably know that I can 
 guess what you are going to tell me. I have had the 
 misfortune of hurting M. Deschars by announcing 
 that we two were not made for each other. What 
 do you expect? We don't feel alike. You know it 
 would be useless to try to do me violence, and I do 
 you the justice of saying that you yourself never 
 thought of such a thing. However, I can't help 
 knowing that you would have liked me to accept 
 your friend. It is a great point in his favour, and I 
 feel it. But you must allow me to bring my own 
 personal considerations to bear; they are valuable 
 because they are mine. So why should we quarrel? " 
 
 "But, unhappy girl, what are you saying? Have 
 I ever quarrelled with you? Why are you on the 
 aggressive before my first word?" 
 
 "Because I know everything you are going to say 
 to me, or at least what you think." 
 
THE STRONGEST 271 
 
 " As for what I think, it doesn't seem as if you care 
 about that. And you're mistaken about what I am 
 going to say. I am not here to talk about Maurice. 
 I like him very much: I admit it. He is a man. 
 He is young, proud, and good: he believes in life and 
 he loves you. That isn't enough, since you do not 
 love him. I am very sorry for you especially. I 
 didn't give you any advice, for I knew that you would 
 reject it: so I haven't anything to say on the subject 
 
 now." 
 
 "Then tell me, frankly, what you want of me." 
 
 "Very well. I don't want you to marry M. Mont- 
 perrier. That's clear, isn't it? " 
 
 "Nothing could be clearer. Now you have only 
 to give me your reason." 
 
 "My reason is that all he wants is your money." 
 
 "Say that he wants me and my position, just as I 
 will accept him with his situation. Don't we all 
 count things up the same way?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh, yes. M. Deschars would marry me if I were 
 a shepherdess. Perhaps he would be wrong. You 
 can't spend a lifetime saying 'I love you'. If those 
 three words were enough for happiness we should 
 have paradise on earth; because there seems plenty 
 of that. People must agree, I know. So must the 
 settings of life. M. Montperrier has a great future, 
 it seems to me. My money promises a future, too. 
 He is young; like M. Deschars, he has his pride; I 
 
272 THE STRONGEST 
 
 haven't seen him unkind. He says he loves me. It 
 isn't any too unusual. Why shouldn't I marry 
 him?" 
 
 "Because you do not love him. Because he is 
 old in spite of all his youth; old in spirit, old in heart, 
 exhausted with pretences, dried up with his figuring. 
 And he cannot be good because his strength is made 
 up of the weakness of others." 
 
 "Say, rather, that he doesn't agree with your 
 theories." 
 
 "I have no theories. You are trying to excuse 
 yourself in your own heart by persuading yourself 
 that I have tried to keep you from being happy. No, 
 my dear child. All I wanted was that you should 
 put worldly pleasures in their proper place in your 
 life. Alas! you have been started down the slope, 
 and I cannot hold you back. The world attracted 
 you. It has taken you taken you utterly and I 
 see the day coming when I shall be nothing to you; 
 because the world to which you are giving yourself 
 irrevocably is selfish, bad, cruel, cowardly. It cor- 
 rupts and perverts everything and fashions every- 
 thing after its own image. You will be its victim 
 before you understand it. Then too late you will 
 call me. I shall be dead. To-day I could save you 
 if you loved me as you used to love me or as I love 
 you." 
 
 "In spite of your bitter words, Uncle, you know 
 that I love you. Do you think I haven't suffered 
 
THE STRONGEST 273 
 
 in resisting you? You are only wrong in one thing: 
 you want to make me happy in spite of myself, in 
 accordance with your philosophy. I am not you; I 
 am I. Let me find my happiness in my own way." 
 
 "Claudia, the thing you call your happiness is 
 irreparable unhappiness, the misery of a wasted life; 
 despair, when the arms I open to you to-day shall be 
 cold in death." 
 
 "And suppose you're mistaken?" 
 
 "And suppose you are? I know. I love you. 
 And I see your destiny." 
 
 "I must make my destiny. I accept its conse- 
 quences. Must I tell you everything? Well, I 
 don't love Maurice Deschars the way you mean, 
 but he is very far from displeasing to me and it will 
 hurt me to see him go. I'm expecting him this very 
 night. Let him let us both have this final chance 
 and don't make me say the word which must not be 
 said, yet. Everything has spoken in his favour he 
 himself, you, something within me everything ex- 
 cept this world that you detest, which he detests, but 
 which speaks within me and which, in spite of myself, 
 I know to be the strongest. What would you say 
 to-morrow if you saw me unhappy because I had 
 obeyed you, and if you had to admit that it was you 
 who had made me unhappy?" 
 
 "All that I ask is: 'Don't marry Montperrier'." 
 
 "But I'm logical in what I do. If I sacrifice the 
 man I might have, I must accept the better one 
 
274 THE STRONGEST 
 
 better in the eyes of the world. And M. Montperrier 
 is just that man. We will combine our forces, and 
 rule." 
 
 "Oh, Claudia, can it be you, you, speaking so 
 cynically of making a bargain in the place of love?" 
 
 "A bargain such as you witness every day and 
 which you forgive your ancestors and your friends. 
 You think I'm cynical? What else can I do but rea- 
 son out my actions, which are the same as everybody 
 else's? Yes, I know, the young girls of my acquaint- 
 ance have a mother with whom to discuss these 
 things. They can lower their eyes while the traffic 
 goes on under the cover of decent formulas; they can 
 make a novena for every act of their own will. But 
 I have to think and act for myself. Don't you real- 
 ize that it has hurt me thus to analyze myself? My 
 cynicism is my honesty." 
 
 "I am frightened by your indifference. You are 
 no longer yourself. It is as if Harle had given you a 
 different soul with all his success. If your mother 
 were^alive again at this moment you would* not dare 
 to look into her eyes. Well, then, you must hear " 
 
 "Uncle, please don't speak of the dead. It is too 
 simple. Listen to me, please. Go away without 
 saying another word; leave me to my own devices 
 until this evening. M. Deschars will tell you what 
 we say. Wait until then, out of pity for me for us. 
 I will tell myself everything that you could tell me. 
 Wait wait, please." 
 
THE STRONGEST 275 
 
 And Puymaufray, silent, departed without know- 
 ing how or why clinging to the hope that her heart 
 would still rebel. 
 
 The countess's words: "We must wait until to- 
 morrow" spoken in the voice of a woman who 
 yields were like the mystic words of the coronation 
 to Harle. It was the supreme achievement. 
 
 A hundred times he had been on the point of 
 throwing himself at her feet and reciting the things 
 he had composed in his quiet hours. Each time 
 something in her face had stopped him and prevented 
 his declaration of love. He confided in Oppert who 
 was not surprised, and who gave him much advice 
 in which Harle thought he detected a touch of regret- 
 ful jealousy. It made him happy. 
 
 The baron's advice was summed up in the word 
 "Patience." But the amorous captain of industry 
 was no longer willing to wait. Either he was a fool, 
 or "We must wait until to-morrow" meant: "I love 
 you." To love, to be loved ! So he was to know that 
 high felicity to which all men aspire and which the 
 greatest of men have often sung only in order to give 
 themselves the illusion of possessing it. In the even- 
 ing of his life, after the enormous labours which had 
 made him the leader of modern industry, he had 
 found an ideal woman the most beautiful, the most 
 intelligent, the best loved who understood and 
 loved him and completed him miraculously, who 
 
276 THE STRONGEST 
 
 would make him the happiest, the most enviable, the 
 strongest of the strong. 
 
 That was exactly what he was telling her at the 
 moment when Puymauf ray was miserably struggling 
 against Claudia's logic. And the thought of making 
 the great Harle happy actually seemed to exalt the 
 countess. 
 
 "Tell me, are all these things true these beautiful 
 things ? ' ' she demanded in an ecstatic voice. " Is it pos- 
 sible that a man like you " She expressed her 
 
 thought with a gentle pressure of her artistic hand, 
 which Harle covered with loud kisses. "Very well, 
 then, my friend. I have decided. Whenever you 
 wish it. I will be Mme. Harle." 
 
 "Say that you will be the Countess Harle. I 
 couldn't ask the Comtesse de Fourchamps to step 
 down in rank. With the help of Abbe Nathaniel 
 I have been made a papal count." 
 
 "Really! You kept the secret well. Surely you 
 don't think I care about such things!" 
 
 "No. I know you too well. But I dream of see- 
 'ing you always going up, and I should have suffered 
 ,to have to start with dragging you down." 
 
 "No fear of that with you." 
 
 "There are so many fools." 
 
 "Yes, and perhaps we're mistaken in paying so 
 much attention to them. That's what M. Mont- 
 perrier told me when I advised him to revive the title 
 his people abandoned after the Revolution. He's a 
 
THE STRONGEST 277 
 
 viscount, you know. Don't you think he'd be a fine 
 husband for Claudia?" 
 
 "Viscomte de Montperrier, that isn't bad. But 
 wouldn't his friends be sore?" 
 
 "Not if he's your son-in-law." 
 
 " That chap is going to make his way in the world." 
 
 "He's made it already or, nearly." 
 
 "I don't like politicians much." 
 
 "Don't say that. You will like them when you 
 are one. One fine day you'll wake up a Senator." 
 
 "Oh, I sha'n't worry! And do you think that 
 Claudia ?" 
 
 "I know that M. Montperrier has the greatest 
 admiration for you. I am pretty sure that this mar- 
 riage would overwhelm him with happiness." 
 
 "I should think so. And Claudia?" 
 
 "Claudia is a sly little thing. I think if you won't 
 say No " 
 
 "I will say what you want me to say, madame." 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 "Always." 
 
 "What are you smiling at?" 
 
 "I was thinking of the young people who get mar- 
 ried for practical reasons, as we two did before, and 
 how we two are making a love match." 
 
 "What a great child you are! You make me 
 blush!" 
 
 Harle was leaving the countess to rush and tell 
 Oppert his great news when Puymaufray was an- 
 
278 THE STRONGEST 
 
 nounced. He had been walking aimlessly in the 
 streets, stricken his brain on fire, delirious with 
 physical and moral pain invoking impossible aid 
 and crying. "Let her marry this man, so long as 
 she loves me." 
 
 What! had nothing risen in his heart during this 
 cold torture of every fibre of his being at the hands 
 of the cruel child who was his very life? Not a start. 
 Not a tear. Not a tremor. It was irreparable. 
 And he, the coward, dared not cry or rebel and impose 
 the authority of her dead mother, commanding in her 
 name. Alas! he had feared the fatal blow of some 
 sarcastic remark from those bitterly drawn lips. 
 That was why he had fled at her behest, feeling that 
 death was coming. And now he had no other help 
 in the world for her. Nanette, a faithful friend, could 
 do nothing. Useless, uprooted, she had seen all her 
 rustic diplomacy in full flight at the first onset and was 
 caught flagrantly loving where she should have lied. 
 It was no wonder that he, outplayed and abused, was 
 odiously overcome by the Comtesse de Fourchamps. 
 
 The thought of that vile creature proposing salva- 
 tion for Claudia at the price of his infamy rose before 
 him. And now he could ask himself what he should 
 have done. He had let his heart speak, just as 
 Nanette had done, and his insulting refusal had 
 marke'd the hour of his final chance. He ought to 
 have pretended to accept, to have dissembled, gained 
 time; and if his hand had been forced he could have 
 
THE STRONGEST 279 
 
 paid with his life, when once Claudia was safe. Death 
 would come now, too death, with the thought of 
 Claudia lost forever. 
 
 " Well, then ! " he thought. " Let the last sacrifice 
 be made. It will not be treason to Claire. I am 
 giving my life for what remains of her, since that is 
 all I could do." 
 
 And without a fixed project, without knowing 
 exactly what he was going to say, he hastened to the 
 Comtesse de Fourchamps. 
 
 When his name was announced she could not sup- 
 press a movement of joy. Chance had brought her 
 her victim. 
 
 "How glad I am to see you, my friend," she cried. 
 "You just met Harle going out, didn't you?" 
 
 "No, madame. I wanted to tell you how I was 
 touched the other day by the affectionate offers 
 you " 
 
 "I must stop you right there, my dear marquis. 
 You must know that my hand is given. I am marry- 
 ing Count Harle in a month. Well, you are quite 
 struck! Say something. Aren't you going to con- 
 gratulate me and wish me happiness?" 
 
 "A thousand pardons, madame," stammered Puy- 
 maufray. "Forgive my surprise. I congratulate 
 you sincerely. And you must believe me that I 
 congratulate Harle above all. I didn't know he was 
 made a count." 
 
 "Pull yourself together, I beg you. Otherwise my 
 
280 THE STRONGEST 
 
 feminine vanity will assume that you are a little 
 vexed. You paid court to me a little don't deny 
 it and I can tell you now that your homage was not 
 altogether displeasing to me." 
 
 ' ' You overwhelm me, madame. I confess that 
 
 "Not another word. I must not hear any more. 
 On the recent occasion, to which you have referred, 
 when I wanted to warn you that you must be con- 
 tent with my friendship, your perplexity was all too 
 apparent. I must forget it, and I will. Who would 
 have thought that you are timid, marquis? You 
 are sentimental. To tell the truth, I thought for a 
 moment that there was some woman between us, 
 some urgent memory. Please don't look so over- 
 come. I know nothing and I haven't the time to 
 guess. We are going to be good friends, aren't we? 
 as s always. You know, after Harle, I have only 
 Claudia and you. I adore that child. Rely on me to 
 assure her happiness. We will find each other in 
 this mutual love. But I see that you are in a hurry 
 to congratulate your friend." 
 
 Puymaufray let himself be pushed out dazed, 
 shaken with dizziness, on the verge of madness. He 
 walked straight ahead, hearing the sounds of the 
 street, trying to make out what they meant, aston- 
 ished that no one had anything to say to him. He 
 found himself on a bench at the Rond-point des 
 Champs-Elysees. Night had come. A woman came 
 up to him and said something which he did not under- 
 
THE STRONGEST 281 
 
 stand. He rose, bowed to the ground, and asked her 
 to repeat what she had said. This time, too, her 
 words seemed senseless. 
 
 "I don't know, madame," he answered, bowing. 
 "I don't know. I beg you to forgive me." 
 
 She fled, frightened, looking for the absent police. 
 He fell back on his seat and in the void of his thoughts 
 began to count the passing wagons. He said: "I'll 
 go back after the last one has gone." The lamps 
 came and went in the night. It seemed like a game 
 to him. He rose with an unconscious gesture and a 
 cabman drew up. He shouted out his address and 
 was glad when he found himself at home. 
 
 While Puymaufray was wandering about like a 
 wounded animal, Dominic was receiving the con- 
 gratulation of his friend Oppert. 
 
 "You see how wise I was when I told you to be 
 patient." 
 
 "Yes," answered Harle, who wanted credit for the 
 manoeuvre, "but I knew when to smash through." 
 
 "Oh, you are a conqueror." 
 
 He had now to tell Claudia. Although he foresaw 
 no objections, Harle was uncomfortable. 
 
 "It's love," bethought, "that causes this modesty. 
 If I were simply making a marriage I could tell my 
 daughter. Happily the conditions are so perfect 
 that Claudia will never suspect that I love the count- 
 ess love her with a real love." 
 
282 THE STRONGEST 
 
 He set down to .dinner, resolved to speak at the 
 dessert. But before he opened his lips he looked at 
 his daughter and saw that she was pale and agitated. 
 It was not the time for confidences. He was about 
 to question Claudia when Deschars was announced. 
 Harle received him with as much cordiality as his 
 absorbing preoccupation with the countess allowed. 
 After a few turns in the garden he asked to be ex- 
 cused. 
 
 The two young people went back to the bench 
 where, a few days before, Deschars had received his 
 sentence. A silence of fear and anguish fell be- 
 tween them, as of the condemned when the execu- 
 tioner is about to strike. Who knows what thoughts 
 possess the head which is soon to fall. Perhaps the 
 absurd thought that there is still time for a paralytic 
 stroke, for a clap of thunder, or for the intervention 
 of a God to change the course of fate. And then 
 the axe falls and the eternal mystery continues to 
 envelop the god who lures the living with other hopes, 
 always new, always unfulfilled 
 
 Between life and death Maurice waited, in the 
 sad delirium of hoping against hope. Claudia was 
 overwhelmed by the gravity of the occasion and felt 
 her throat choking as though the effort to speak 
 must end in sobs. She thought of escaping. If 
 Deschars had had courage to assail his fate, he might 
 have released all her pent-up emotions. What a 
 future depended on the moment. Motionless, wear- 
 
THE STRONGEST 283 
 
 ied, overcome by a day of storms, he sat and watched 
 the moths flying into the quivering candlelight. 
 Without a movement, without a thought, he waited. 
 
 Finally Claudia mastered herself and spoke: 
 
 "You were very good to come," she said in a 
 scarcely audible voice. "No matter how it may 
 hurt us both, you must hear me again. If I were 
 wrong I should have let you judge me by our last 
 conversation. But I haven't the courage. I can- 
 not resign myself to live misunderstood " 
 
 "I understand you, since I love you," he answered. 
 "I understand you because I know you are the victim 
 of evil suggestions around you, because it is your 
 father and not yourself speaking. I understand 
 you better than you do. It is because of your weak- 
 ness, because you don't trust your own power that 
 you are trying to find refuge in extremes. Know- 
 ing nothing of life, but thinking that you know, 
 you are violently closing your heart against your 
 wonderful godfather; you are not saying what you 
 really think, and you are not following the commands 
 of your own heart!" 
 
 "No," declared Claudia. "You are judging me 
 too highly. Really I am two persons, and I cannot 
 understand myself. There were times when I might 
 have given you my hand, gladly and have been 
 happy in your way of happiness. They opened up 
 to me a different kind of life. My millions are throw- 
 ing me into the arms of M. Montperrier whom I do 
 
284 THE STRONGEST 
 
 not love. Heaven knows how I shall feel toward him 
 to-morrow. But at his side I shall have an oppor- 
 tunity to find those gratifications of pride for which I 
 am sacrificing love. These aren't new things. Only 
 I am going into the world with open eyes. 
 I am not forced. I follow the road which has been 
 marked out for me, because I haven't the power to 
 make another way for myself. Despise me for that 
 weakness. Hate me for the evil I am doing you. 
 But pity me for the sufferings I undergo." 
 
 "If you really are suffering, save yourself, I 
 beseech you. There is still time. Lift up your head 
 and decide for yourself. Save yourself, save us both. 
 Don't kill all the happiness of your life without even 
 the excuse of ignorance." 
 
 "It is too late. My fate is sealed. To-morrow I 
 would fall back. If my decision were not irrevo- 
 cable could I have spoken to you as I did the other 
 day? Could I have held out against the kindness 
 of my uncle this morning? Could I, even in this 
 shameful hour, feel myself incapable of withdrawing a 
 single one of my wicked words? It is better for 
 you and for me to suffer this hour of pain than to 
 torture each other for a lifetime." Then, after a 
 brief silence: "To-morrow," she added, "I will ac- 
 quaint M. Montperrier with his happiness. I 
 wanted to see you again first: I myself don't know 
 why. Perhaps to test myself finally. My tortures 
 are cruel, I admit. But my decision stands. So 
 
THE STRONGEST 205 
 
 go, without saying adieu, without looking back. 
 Go dream your dream over the surface of the earth. 
 Perhaps you will find someone worthy to dream it 
 with you. You will forget. Perhaps it will be my 
 punishment to remember, some day." 
 
 He tried to kiss the hand she held out to him. 
 But Claudia snatched it away, as if burned by the 
 tears which came before the touch of his lips. 
 
 "No," she said. "I am not worthy of your re- 
 grets. Go, quickly." 
 
 But when he started, she stopped him with a reso- 
 lute gesture. 
 
 "I beg you, not a word. Be generous to the end. 
 I couldn't change, and you would only add to my 
 sorrow. Good-bye. Something of us is being de- 
 stroyed, and it is I who have willed it. Forgive 
 me and pity me. You see that I do not love 
 you." 
 
 She fled toward the salon. Deschars stood vac- 
 antly listening to her footsteps on the sand, waiting 
 for her to return, searching some decision in himself 
 to redeem the final defeat he had suffered, and find- 
 ing nothing but a stricken will. A noise startled 
 him. He thought he heard Harle, and hastened 
 toward the street. From her window Claudia saw 
 him go, but no sign escaped her to call back the 
 love she was banishing from her life. 
 
 As the gate shut heavily on her dead past she 
 trembled and with drawn face ran to the console 
 
286 THE STRONGEST 
 
 where a secret was/hidden. She pressed the spring, 
 took out a little box of shell and gold, and unlocked 
 it. Then she undressed in feverish haste. 
 
 Finally, when she was ready for bed, Claudia sat 
 down in the glow of the lamp, took a tiny golden 
 instrument from the box a mysterious gift from the 
 countess filled it with morphine and, for the first 
 time, pressed the needle in. ... 
 
 Meantime Deschars was slowly returning to the 
 liotel where Puymaufray, in despair, awaited him. 
 Hopeless himself, Deschars ungratefully forgot his 
 friend, whose anguish he could not fathom. 
 
 At the door Nanette reminded him. 
 
 "My dear Nanette," he said in an indistinct voice, 
 "please tell the marquis that I am dying of weariness 
 and that I will see him to-morrow." 
 
 He need not have wasted words. Prom his tone 
 Nanette divined the disaster. 
 
 "It went badly," she told Puymaufray when she 
 returned. "It's easy to surmise these things with 
 a man like Maurice. He'll see you to-morrow. We 
 must try to console him. But we still have your 
 child to save. And you are still asking and scolding 
 when you have the right to command." 
 
 Thus quarrelling with him she distracted his 
 thoughts from Maurice's disaster, to summon his 
 forces for the last attempt at salvation. 
 
 "You are right," he said, finally. "I have recoiled 
 
THE STRONGEST 287 
 
 too long from the decisive words. This time, I 
 swear to you, she will hear me." 
 
 Meanwhile, Deschars in his room tramped the 
 floor from one wall to the other, his face drawn with 
 anguish, trying to recall something of his will-power. 
 In the morning he was resolved, and wrote this brief 
 note: 
 
 To M. LE MARQUIS DE PUYMAUFRAY: 
 
 Forgive me for leaving without seeing you again. What 
 could I say, which would not hurt you? 
 
 Last night I was given these definite words: "I do not 
 love you." It is enough. 
 
 I am hurrying to get out of the way. Do you continue 
 to love her, since you have the right. I am going to take 
 up my useless wanderings at hazard. I will write you one 
 day. 
 
 I greet you with an ever-increasing affection. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Two hours later he was en route for Marseilles. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 A BREAKFAST next day Claudia and 
 Harle regarded each other in silence. He 
 was nervously seeking a chance to speak, 
 preoccupied only with his efforts to conceal, under 
 the cloak of a marriage of convenience, the secret 
 intoxication of his marriage for love. Claudia was 
 still affected by the morphine and was delighting 
 in the poisonous charm of a delicious stupor. She 
 expected her father to ask questions and, guessing 
 that they would be about Montperrier, decided that 
 it might be in good taste to express some leaning to- 
 ward her future husband. 
 
 When he had made sure of his voice by a pre- 
 liminary cough, Harle began his discourse: 
 
 "I have a great piece of news for you, little one. 
 I have been given the title of count. The Holy 
 Father has graciously granted me this favour, which 
 I have never sought. As you know, I am far above 
 these vanities. I suppose they wanted to reward 
 me for the services rendered to the charitable insti- 
 tutions of Ste. Radegonde and to assure the good will 
 of the Universal Daily toward the good cause. I 
 couldn't have declined this honour without insulting 
 
 388 
 
THE STRONGEST 289 
 
 the Holy See. So I am a count. In view of the 
 position I have acquired, it is a bagatelle. I need 
 no one and everyone needs me. But look! One of 
 these days you'll go away on the arm of some fine 
 husband, when I shall have to remain here in this 
 palace alone. That's very sad to think about. So 
 you won't be surprised to hear that I have been enter- 
 taining the notion of providing myself with a new 
 family always taking care not to harm your in- 
 terest or offend your feelings." 
 
 "Papa, don't say another word. You are marry- 
 ing the Comtesse de Fourchamps." 
 
 " I am delighted that you guessed it ! That proves 
 that everything is for the best in the world, since, 
 without my saying a word to any one " 
 
 "Oh, come, Papa, you are joking. I have eyes. 
 You are madly in love with her." 
 
 Harle blushed to his ears. 
 
 "What's that you say? The Comtesse de Four- 
 champs is our best friend. She wanted to watch 
 over your debut into society. She has overwhelmed 
 you with her affectionate care, with her tenderness, 
 and I have pledged her my infinite gratitude for this 
 inestimable service. I 'admire her. So does all Paris . 
 But that doesn't justify your credulity. I must 
 have a woman's aid in the political career on which 
 I am embarking. You will be nearer the truth if 
 you say that I am ambitious. You must admit that 
 I couldn't find a happier assistant " 
 
290 THE STRONGEST 
 
 " Whatever you say, Papa. A little sentimentality 
 doesn't go badly at your age. The countess has 
 been very good to me. I rejoice in whatever feelings 
 you have which will bring her closer to us. I fore- 
 saw this result of your ambitions as you call them. 
 long ago. All the conveniences are present, and if 
 your heart is touched a little, I shall not betray you.'*; 
 
 Harle lowered his eyes, timid at the very mention' 
 of the word love. I 
 
 "And, since we're talking about such things "' 
 
 Claudia resumed. 
 
 She did not have time to finish. A gust of wind, 
 flung the door open and in a moment Claudia was in 
 the arms of the countess. 
 
 "My dear, my dear, how happy I am! You really 
 want me for your mamma?" 
 
 They broke into laughter shaken with restrained 
 emotion: they embraced and they cried, with real 
 tears. 
 
 Harle was in raptures. His eyes wet with emotion, 
 he drained the cup of happiness. He wanted to 
 speak but could say nothing but "Oh!" which, 
 to him, seemed to be sublimely eloquent. Finally, 
 after a speech which was all pantomime, he kissed 
 the little white glove which fluttered on Claudia's 
 shoulder, and they all tried to calm down. 
 
 "You know, my dear child," said the countess, 
 "that your father and I want nothing except to 
 make you happy." 
 
THE STRONGEST 291 
 
 "How could I doubt that?" asked Claudia, calmly 
 watching the flood of these excessive emotions. "I 
 can see in your eyes that you have something to tell 
 me already." 
 
 " Clever little thing ! You want to make me speak 
 in spite of myself and won't give me the pleasure of 
 a surprise. All right. IS your father permits me I 
 shall speak and claim my rights as a mother from 
 this happy day." 
 
 "Madame," answered Harle, solemnly, "you may 
 say whatever you wish." 
 
 "Very well, my dears. I have just had a visit 
 from M. Montperrier who tells me that the beauty 
 of Mile. Claudia Harte " 
 
 "Spare us the prologue, please," interposed 
 Claudia. "I made my decision yesterday and"! 
 see that we are going to start our family off in full 
 agreement. What have you to say, father?" 
 
 "Oh, it's very simple. My opinion is the same 
 as the countess's." 
 
 "Well, my opinion is that I am struck with the 
 advantages of this union if the inclinations of our 
 daughter " 
 
 "Assume that the feeling of your daughter are 
 all that you can wish." 
 
 "I am delighted," answered the countess. "The 
 old nobility is played out. I can say that without 
 danger. A man like your father is destined by his 
 genius to set great modern activities astir. Poli- 
 
292 THE STRONGEST 
 
 tics must have him. Look among the careers of the 
 present-day politicians and find one who is richer 
 in acquirements or more happy in his hopes than 
 Montperrier. What could we wish for you, child, 
 greater than the noble joy of power, which used to 
 be the prerogative of royalty and which is now 
 logically reserved for 
 
 "The strongest," interjected Harle. 
 
 "That is too modest," observed the countess. 
 "Say, rather: 'the most deserving'." 
 
 "Same thing. Well, child, what do you say?" 
 
 "Nothing. In principle, I approve." 
 
 "I will only remark," Harle continued, "that as 
 M. Montperrier hasn't a penny we must grant him 
 nothing in the settlement. He must be held by his 
 wife. Otherwise I know what would happen." 
 
 "I think that is an absolutely indispensable con- 
 dition," said Claudia. 
 
 "M. Montperrier," the countess declared, gravely, 
 "is the most unselfish man in the world. He might 
 accept. He would never ask." 
 
 "He will have nothing," Harle concluded. His 
 habitual decisiveness asserted itself in this con- 
 nection. 
 
 "Before I give my last word I want a five-minute 
 interview with M. Montperrier," suggested Claudia. 
 
 "Just as you wish, little one. * I approve. There's 
 always something to say." 
 
 "Why, it's splendid," cried the countess, with a 
 
THE STRONGEST 293 
 
 burst of laughter. "I have just left M. Montperrier 
 downstairs in my carriage." 
 
 A few minutes later Etienne Montperrier was 
 ushered into the salon and was met by the family. 
 
 "Ah! so it's you, you sly one, who dares ask for 
 the hand of my child," shouted Harle, happily. 
 "Well, I love audacity. But I have nothing to 
 say; Claudia is mistress of herself. She will decide, 
 and I am willing to let you plead your cause. Be 
 eloquent. Good luck to the young." 
 
 On that, Harle went off with the countess, leaving 
 the two lovers face to face. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," began Montperrier, very pale, 
 " my fate is in your hands. I can confess to you now 
 that, apart from the questions of advantages which 
 we cannot pretend to ignore without hypocrisy 
 my admiration for your character and may I 
 add? the effect of your beauty on me, prevent me 
 from speaking as I should speak." 
 
 "I am very glad of that, monsieur. For it seems 
 to me that we have room just now only for the elo- 
 quence of facts." 
 
 "However, you must believe that love " 
 
 "Quite. We have a lifetime in which to try to 
 agree on that subject. I wanted this talk in order 
 to make clear my conditions. We must not try to 
 deceive each other. You love me, which is proper 
 enough, and you do not displease me. When every- 
 thing else is settled, that is enough. I would say 
 
294 THE STRONGEST 
 
 that I propose to remain mistress of myself if thafc 
 be compatible with marriage. At the least I have 
 resolved to protect everything I can from the pos- 
 sibility of eventual tyranny. That is why I wanted 
 you to hear from my own lips, to-day, that my duties 
 are to be measured exactly by yours. My father 
 intends to grant you nothing in the settlement; and 
 if he didn't want that, I would." 
 
 "I have given so many proofs of disinterested " 
 
 "I couldn't doubt them. I am speaking this 
 way now, regretfully, in order to inform you fully of 
 the state of my feelings, to which your resolutions 
 for the future must bow." 
 
 "And I thank you for it, mademoiselle. Since 
 we are speaking with equal frankness, would you 
 not let me say that it might be advisable, in our com- 
 mon interest, to keep up the social authority nec- 
 essary in my position for me to be so placed that I 
 would be protected against malicious remarks?" 
 
 "Surely you don't think so! You would be giving 
 yourself over to all sorts of slanders that way. They 
 would say that we had made a money bargain. No. 
 You see in me a will not inferior to your own. That 
 is a guaranty of the future. Have confidence in me. 
 You have my complete social fidelity, as I have 
 yours. That answers for everything. But I con- 
 sent to let you try to make people love you, and I 
 hope you want to do that." 
 
 "My only desire is to please you in everything." 
 
THE STRONGEST 295 
 
 " Well, then, our fate is decided. If necessary I will 
 remind you of the conditions of our agreement." 
 
 "It will not be necessary. I will keep the details 
 fresh in my memory." 
 
 He advanced toward her with outstretched hand. 
 She stopped him with a gesture and, putting aside 
 the portiere, summoned her father. 
 
 Then, under the tender eyes of the Comtesse de 
 Fourchamps and the flamboyant ardour of M. 
 Harle, burning with love, the two young people 
 coldly sealed their pact with a gesture of the utmost 
 propriety, each thinking of the ingenious calculation, 
 the triumph of their day, to be paid with avenging 
 to-morrows. 
 
 "I will hold him," Claudia said to herself. "He 
 will be in my hands." 
 
 "I will have my revenge," thought Montperrier, 
 dully annoyed. 
 
 "Be happy, my children," exclaimed Harle, rav- 
 ished by the eyes of the countess. 
 
 Puymaufray read Deschars's note and without a 
 word handed it to Nanette. She deciphered it, 
 slowly. After a silence she said: 
 
 " He did the right think by going away. He didn't 
 have the strength for this game. All our misfor- 
 tune comes from counting on him, while he was 
 expecting us to give him Claudia. You see, M'sieur 
 Henri, that all the young people of to-day, even when 
 
296 THE STRONGEST 
 
 they are good, are good for nothing. That's all 
 you can say." 
 
 " And I ? I haven't much to be proud of ! " 
 
 "Because you sit here with your arms folded 
 watching other people strike while the iron is hot. 
 But this time you have promised me to speak out the 
 way you should. Otherwise, everything is over." 
 
 "Claudia will hear me. I have promised." 
 
 Puymaufray rang at the door of Harle's house 
 precisely at the moment when Claudia, her hand in 
 Montperrier's, was looking with an ironic stare at 
 the countess, timid and modest, and at her father, 
 with his burning eyes. 
 
 When she heard Henri's name, Claudia cried out 
 and disappeared. 
 
 "Show M. le marquis into my study," growled 
 Harle, furious at the encounter. 
 
 "I'll take M. Montperrier with me," said the 
 countess. "It isn't desirable that the marquis 
 should see me. He had, if I'm not mistaken, plans 
 for Claudia and for someone else, which do not 
 agree with what has come to pass. Let us not annoy 
 him with our happiness." 
 
 "I will come to see you presently," said Harle. 
 
 "Good. I will wait for you." 
 
 The moment the carriage passed through the gate 
 the countess turned to Montperrier. 
 
 "Well?" she demanded, triumphantly. 
 
 "I can't tell you how grateful I am," answered 
 
THE STRONGEST 297 
 
 Montperrier. "But it seems I shall have the hu- 
 miliation of depending upon my wife." 
 
 "Claudia is insuring herself against human in- 
 gratitude. Don't go around talking of these dif- 
 ficulties. Remember that I will always be your 
 friend." 
 
 At bottom the countess was not at all displeased 
 to hold the reins over young Montperrier, who 
 would, undoubtedly, have to feel the bit some day. 
 He saw through her attitude and forgetful of ser- 
 vices rendered grew enraged. 
 
 Meanwhile Harle, touched to the quick by the 
 countess's allusion to Puymaufray's rivalry, greeted 
 him brusquely and took up a telegram, which a ser- 
 vant brought in at the same moment. He opened 
 it, hoping to find in it an excuse for his bad humour 
 a hope that was more than gratified. 
 
 "This is too much!" he shouted, with an evil 
 look. " Ste. Radegonde is out on strike. For a month 
 my engineer has been talking about 'discontent' and 
 'conferences.' He seemed to think that something 
 had to be done. I put it off : I had so many things 
 to keep me busy here. And now it's over. I will 
 yield nothing." 
 
 "I wanted to talk to you about that," said Puy- 
 maufray. "I have just had a letter from Jean 
 Quete. He says that the new machines keep the 
 men much closer to the job all the time and tire them 
 out much more quickly. And he says that as the 
 
298 THE STRONGEST 
 
 output is so much, greater they have been asking 
 for a rise in wages but in vain." 
 
 "I didn't refuse. I postponed it. It isn't so 
 startling that I shouldn't be in a hurry to diminish 
 my profits." 
 
 "It seems that your men were more in a hurry to 
 get higher wages for more work. They got tired of 
 waiting, and now they're striking." 
 
 " Yes. But they've chosen the worst possible way. 
 Now I can't give in. I should seem to be in the 
 wrong. To-morrow they will ask for Heaven knows 
 what. They must go back first!" 
 
 "But you yourself admit that you ought to have 
 settled the question sooner. Surely you don't want 
 to drive these people mad simply out of obstinacy?" 
 
 " Mad? I'd like to see that ! I tell you they must 
 go back first! Let them resume work; then I'll 
 
 see." 
 
 "Where's Claudia?" 
 
 "She's gone out. We're going to the opera to- 
 night with the Comtesse de Fourchamps and M. 
 Montperrier. If you care to join us " 
 
 "No. Will you tell Claudia that I will see her 
 to-morrow?" 
 
 "Surely. She'll expect you after lunch. I'm 
 going down to the Cours Beauvau. I must see the 
 Minister of the Interior at once to put an end to my 
 strike. Damn those people! I'm going to sack the 
 leaders." 
 
THE STRONGEST 299 
 
 He dismissed Puymaufray and, writing a burning 
 note to the countess, hastened down to the ministry. 
 
 Puymaufray stopped at the first telegraph office 
 and wired Jean Quete: 
 
 Give in. Everything will be arranged PUYMAUFRAY. 
 
 Then burdened with himself, not knowing where 
 to go, he wandered toward the Bois in the vague 
 hope of finding Claudia. He took the Avenue de la 
 Grande Armee, to avoid bores, and was approaching 
 the pavilion d' Armenonville when the sight of a 
 crowd diverted him. 
 
 He walked along, with his eyes on the ground. 
 Without knowing how he got there, he found him- 
 self between the little lake and the pine trees near 
 Neuilly. Suddenly a familiar voice made him raise 
 his head. Prince de Luques and M61anie were two 
 paces ahead of him, engaged in an intimate conver- 
 sation. He tried to escape, but at the sound of his 
 steps the prince had turned. 
 
 "Ha, it's you," he cried. "What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " The same as you. I'm taking a walk," answered 
 Henri, saluting the young woman. 
 
 "My dear child, I present to you my old friend, 
 M. le Marquis de Puymaufray!" 
 
 "Monsieur, I am very happy to know you," said 
 Melanie. "I have often heard about you. Pardon 
 me, you see me somewhat nervous. I have been 
 
300 THE STRONGEST 
 
 quarrelling with the prince. Do me the favour of 
 lecturing him." 
 
 "Come, come, dear. What are you saying?" 
 
 "I am simply calling the Marquis de Puymaufray 
 to my assistance. I want him to judge between us." 
 
 "Silence!" exclaimed the prince, out of patience. 
 
 "No, no. You shall not stop me from talking." 
 Then, to Puymaufray: "The prince launched me, 
 didn't he? Everybody in Paris knows that. He 
 did me two great favours. He showed me that virtue 
 was out of place for a pretty girl and offered me his 
 services. Well, I accepted; and I may tell you that 
 the arrangement was purely platonic on both sides. 
 That was what decided me on my course: the origi- 
 nality of the love of art." 
 
 The prince was cutting a deplorable figure. 
 
 "Only," continued Melanie, "right after the visit 
 to Morgan, which was the prince's idea and for 
 which I thank him because it started me off at the 
 top, didn't it? he began to try to play the lover! 
 And, what's more ridiculous still, he became jealous. 
 Really it is too funny. I laughed a whole day. And 
 now he hounds me; he compromises me; he follows 
 me even into this secluded spot because he saw 
 me exchange a couple of words with M. Montperrier. 
 I refused to tell him what we said and why I appeared 
 so satisfied. I am discreet, that's all." 
 
 Turning to the prince she added: "But now I have 
 no further need to be secretive, since M. le Marquis 
 
THE STRONGEST 301 
 
 de Puymaufray is going to tell you the news himself. 
 M. Montperrier announced to me his engagement to 
 M. le marquis's ward." 
 
 "My ward?" cried Henri, growing pale. 
 
 "Your ward, or your godchild; which is it?" asked 
 Melanie. "Mile. Claudia Harle, anyhow. You 
 brought her up, didn't you? I want to be one of the 
 first to congratulate you. They say that Mile. 
 Harle has millions. Take my word for it that M. 
 Montperrier is worthy of her." 
 
 Without a word Puymaufray saluted hastily and 
 fled, like a hunted beast. Until night he walked, 
 incapable of concentrated thought. Then a reaction 
 set in and he went home boiling with rage. Nanette 
 saw him pass but she could not see his face, and all 
 night long she watched his locked door, thinking 
 that whatever had happened, a decision would be 
 made on the morrow. 
 
 In the morning a telegram came from Jean Quete. 
 It ran : 
 
 They would not believe me. They have waited too 
 long. Besides, arrival of troops caused anger. Uproar 
 last night. Windows broken, arrests. Cannot hold back 
 any longer. 
 
 "I will answer it to-night," said Henri, giving the 
 blue slip to Nanette. 
 
 He looked at the clock. All night long, in his dis- 
 
302 THE STRONGEST 
 
 tress, lie had listened to the ticking of the minutes, 
 marking the last halt before the final battle. In vain 
 had he tried to hurry them. The chain of minutes 
 dragged by him wearily. All his life passed before 
 him in review: his wildly wasted youth, his love, the 
 lightning flash of happiness, and the thunderclap that 
 destroyed his superhuman bliss; and then the vision 
 of Claire, living again in the eyes of their daughter, 
 the hope renewed . . . to be crushed in despair. 
 He had loved the ungrateful child too well. He had 
 been afraid to dare her to her face. But what now? 
 Claudia, a rebel against the soul of Claire, was Clau- 
 dia no more. He had no fear of speaking now, since 
 he expected nothing but death. 
 
 They were just finishing lunch when Henri reached 
 Harle's house. Outwardly he seemed calm. But 
 the contracted brows, the fixed eye, and the tight- 
 ened mouth bespoke immovable resolve. Harle, very 
 sombre, entered with Claudia. 
 
 "Well, you're satisfied now, I suppose," exclaimed 
 Harle "now that your theories are in action. The 
 strikers have tried to destroy Ste. Radegonde. I 
 don't know what would have happened if it hadn't 
 been for the troops." 
 
 "I have just received a wire saying that there 
 Were only some windows smashed. That isn't 
 
 serious." 
 
 "So you're on the side of Revolution. I should 
 have known that.'* 
 
THE STRONGEST 303 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense. You know how it will 
 end." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Everybody is going back to work, 
 and quickly. I say so. The minister gave me as- 
 surances. The incredible thing is that they hesitated 
 at first to send troops. Montperrier convinced them 
 quickly. Ha! their daring me! They'll see. They'll 
 know whom they're dealing with. Yesterday I 
 would have made concessions if they had thrown 
 themselves on my generosity. To-day: nothing. 
 And let them not ask. I'll lower their wages." 
 
 "Really, you are mad! Yesterday you admitted 
 that you were wrong because you didn't accept the 
 agreement they proposed. And to-day, because you 
 are sure of yourself with the troops there, you are 
 going to maintain a regime which you yourself have 
 condemned." 
 
 "Do you think it's for a few francs?" 
 
 "After all, you do not despise them those few 
 francs although you admit they aren't yours by 
 right." 
 
 "It isn't I. You don't understand. Revolution 
 is breaking out and we must keep it under. What 
 is that to you? you who have never worked and 
 who find it easy to criticize those that have. I rep- 
 resent the necessary order. All of society is inter- 
 ested in my victory over the strikers. That is why 
 the Government put the army at my disposal. What ! 
 At the very moment when I am starting a great enter- 
 
304 THE STRONGEST 
 
 prise which consolidates the existing order, basing 
 it on the tacit consent of the masses, shall I see my 
 authority and my prestige compromised because a 
 few hotheads " 
 
 "Really, you couldn't stand that," interjected 
 Claudia in a provoking voice. 
 
 "You, too!" exclaimed Puymaufray. (Claudia's 
 eyes dropped, rebelliously.) "That you should have 
 come to this!" 
 
 "Yes; she, too," shouted Harle, violently. "And 
 all sensible people, who defend what they have and 
 so defend everybody's possessions. Claudia doesn't 
 come up to the heights of my views, perhaps, but she 
 understands that it is a fight for her side against a 
 crowd of malefactors. My greatness since we must 
 speak of it is hers, obviously. There would be 
 no need for me to remind you of it if you really loved 
 her as you pretend. By thirty years of work I have 
 brought her to the top of the social ladder. And 
 to-morrow the bandits will have the better of me!" 
 
 "No," said Claudia, with a shake of her head. 
 "They won't. I will be as good to the unfortunate 
 as you want, but father is right and I am on his side. 
 We must be the masters." 
 
 "Yes, the masters," hissed Harle, savagely. "I'll 
 smash those brawlers; I'll break 'em up. And if they 
 think they'll escape by their secret plans, I'll show 
 them how to lie." 
 
 Puymaufray was just about to answer, contemptu- 
 
THE STRONGEST 305 
 
 ously, when the door opened. An engineer from 
 Ste. Radegonde was asking to see Harle. 
 
 "Show him in," Harl6 commanded. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the arrival, "there is bad news 
 at the ministry. The situation is worse this morn- 
 ing. A mob formed, shouting. Women got mixed 
 up in it. They began to make threats. The Secre- 
 tary of the Ministry is following me. He will tell 
 you the instructions sent down by the Ministry of 
 War." 
 
 "Very well. I'll tell him what to do," growled 
 Harle. "There are no instructions. They have to 
 act. Otherwise we shall be the laughing stock of 
 Paris to-morrow. My power is crumbling away at 
 the very moment of my triumph. My envious ene- 
 mies will let loose all their fury against me. We shall 
 be flung aside. My daughter, for whom I was pre- 
 paring a regal life and I " 
 
 "Father," gasped Claudia, grown suddenly pale, 
 "you must see the minister and speak to him and 
 make him do his duty. He must protect us. We 
 must defend ourselves. You can't let Ste. Radegonde 
 be ransacked by savages. If the revolt won there 
 it would be the end of everything. It's impossible. 
 The soldiers won't let themselves be insulted. They 
 have their weapons " 
 
 Henri sprang toward her. 
 
 "Say that again!" he shouted, trembling with 
 anger. "Say that again!" 
 
306 THE STRONGEST 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 Harle preoccupied with his decisions had taken 
 the caller into his study. 
 
 Claudia and Henri were left alone for the merciless 
 duel, and their eyes flashed like blades crossing in 
 mid-air. Claudia was on the defensive, and she 
 faced Henri's attack without flinching. 
 
 "So you, you have spoken that way," he said, 
 approaching her. "You, my daughter!" 
 
 "Yes; I, your 0od-daughter," corrected Claudia, 
 coldly. 
 
 "Miserable child; must men be killed for you now? 
 Men who may be wrong but who may have reasons 
 for being wrong. . . . And you give the word to 
 fire!" 
 
 "A word escaped me. I don't think it has killed 
 any one." 
 
 "Don't you? I got the blow here, in my heart; 
 and the wound will never close. What do you care in 
 your new life? Haven't you reduced me to the point 
 where I must learn of your engagement from M61anie, 
 whom I found quarrelling with Prince de Luques 
 about M. Montperrier himself?" 
 
 "In Paris you can't keep a secret. I didn't see 
 you yesterday." 
 
 "Enough of lies. To-day we must have the truth 
 between us. I wanted to save you. I couldn't. 
 It is probably my fault. The others were too strong 
 for me. I needed your help. Now it is ended. 
 
THE STRONGEST 307 
 
 But you must know what you are going to lose. I 
 loved you. I love you enough now not to curse you 
 when you strike the dagger into me. I have loved 
 you from the day you were born. I loved you for 
 yourself. I loved you for your mother. Do not 
 say a word. I do not want you to touch that mem- 
 ory of mine. It wasn't a *kind of love' that I gave 
 you. It was love itself. I followed your foot- 
 steps " 
 
 "You were always reproaching me for it, 
 Uncle " 
 
 "There was room for reproaches! I followed 
 you do you hear? hour by hour. I saw your soul 
 begin to grow, and my only desire was that you 
 should be your mother over again; your mother whom 
 you are going to banish forever. Nothing stopped 
 me; nothing tired me. I could not say *I want' be- 
 cause I had no law but love on my side. I spoke. 
 What more could I have done? I couldn't set up 
 as an example. My life had been a failure. I was 
 to find my punishment in you. I wasted my life and 
 yet your mother was able to turn it into a new path. 
 How easy it seemed to open your heart to the 
 noble ideals which should have been your heritage. 
 That was what I tried to do. In order to be 
 loved, I assumed that you loved and for twenty 
 years I kept up the pretence. And in spite of every- 
 thing, in spite of yourself, I remained faithful to 
 you." 
 
308 THE STRONGEST 
 
 " But, Uncle, why did you burden yourself ? Surely 
 this was my father's duty." 
 
 "And your mother's, too. I received from her the 
 duty of love which, to-day, I must fulfil." 
 
 "You have told me this a hundred times. But 
 you spoke of my mother; it was my father who made 
 me happy." 
 
 "I wanted you to be happy through love, your 
 father wanted you to be happy by ruling over others. 
 I told you to love. The world tempted you with 
 selfishness and your father was an accomplice. The 
 world and your father were the strongest." 
 
 "Why don't you say that you wanted to make me 
 like yourself with good intentions? I admit. Weak 
 as I was, I tried to obey you. I couldn't. All you 
 did was to make it harder for me to go my way, to 
 follow my father. My sufferings and my tears are 
 due to you. I owe to my father nothing but happi- 
 ness my father whom you are accusing behind his 
 back." 
 
 "Silence! You do not know what you are saying. 
 With a word I could bring down your castle in the air. 
 I came here to compel you to obey, to command in 
 the name of your mother, when your abominable 
 words " 
 
 "I did not know her. No one has the right to the 
 name now except my father's wife." 
 
 Puymaufray staggered under the blow, his hands 
 clutching the air. 
 
THE STRONGEST 309 
 
 "The Comtesse de Fourchamps your mother I" 
 he cried. "You! You dare to disown her! For 
 
 your blasphemy may you No! I will not say 
 
 it. Her voice! Her voice!" 
 
 Suddenly, roughly, he pointed at Claudia and said: 
 
 "You have willed it. The tomb is going to open." 
 
 And without knowing what he was going to do, he 
 went to Harle's study. Harle was about to go out. 
 
 "Wait!" said Puymaufray, with authority. "I 
 must speak to you." 
 
 Harle, anxious to get away, returned to the study 
 without a word. 
 
 "I have just said good-bye to Claudia," Henri 
 began. "'Good-bye,' you understand?" 
 
 Dominic nodded. "Well?" he queried. 
 
 "Well? Nothing. I wanted to talk to her about 
 her mother, who, on the threshold of death, asked me 
 to watch over her. You were absent then " 
 
 "Yes. But I am here now, and we do not need 
 any help to get along. As for Claudia's mother, 
 she was mad." 
 
 At the word, Puymaufray strode forward, furi- 
 ously. 
 
 "I forbid you to insult Claire," he said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " 'Claire?' " cried Dominic, stupefied. "What do 
 you say? Who gives you the right ?" 
 
 "I say that I forbid you to insult Claire," repeated 
 Puymaufray, menacingly. "Listen. The supreme 
 
310 THE STRONGEST 
 
 moment has come. I despise you and you hate me. 
 But I know that there are some things so low that 
 you would not do them. Will you say, for me, 
 whether you think I am capable of dishonouring my 
 own name by a lie, the most odious of lies?" 
 
 "No," said the other, calming himself with an 
 effort.' "Go on. Speak. I will believe you. 5 * 
 
 " Then let the blow fall. Claudia is my daughter !" 
 
 Harle felt a cloud settle before his eyes. Then, 
 suddenly freed, he gasped: "What are you saying? 
 You are mad. You are insulting the dead. You 
 are a coward. You lie!" 
 
 Henri stood still, only raising his hand to call 
 Heaven to testify. "On my name and on my honour, 
 by all that I respect and all that I believe in, I swear 
 that Claudia is my daughter the child born of me, 
 Henri de Puymaufray, and of Claire Mornand, whom 
 you bought as a business speculation and who was 
 my wife by the law of Love." 
 
 Harle fell into a chair, overcome. Hiding his head 
 in his hands he remained silent, convulsed with fury. 
 To think that he had been fooled, and precisely 
 by those whom he despised! He, the strong man, 
 mocked by the weak! His anger, at bottom, rose 
 against himself. 
 
 Henri livid of face and stiff, with arms folded 
 waited. Finally the explosion came. The blood 
 had rushed to Harle face; his eyes were starting from 
 their sockets, as he rose in a fit of rage: 
 
THE STRONGEST 311 
 
 "And why do you tell me that now? Because it 
 is too late for me to be revenged! Twenty years of 
 falsehood and then one word of truth when you are 
 sure of escaping punishment! What made you 
 speak? Tell me if you dare ! Ah! the marriage with 
 Montperrier. You don't approve, eh? It's not the 
 sort of thing you want. So you say to yourself, 
 'Since she will not yield, I will take her back and 
 force her to obey.' Well? and what about my 
 millions? What are you going to do about them, 
 now? Or rather what would you have done if you 
 hadn't thought of this new idea? You didn't think 
 of them, did you? You are so unselfish! However, 
 even if my wife was yours as you have just ex- 
 plained my money is my own! I won it by my 
 work! I didn't steal it from you! So why do you 
 want to steal it from me?" 
 
 "That is one insult which does not touch me. 
 Events have taken us both by surprise! I had to 
 choose between killing the mother and accepting a 
 lie. I took the risk." 
 
 "It isn't true. You wanted to steal my money 
 for your daughter. And you made her an accomplice 
 in your infamy! Talk to me about the puritans 
 who disapprove of us! How do you dare to loot 
 into my face?" 
 
 "Because my conscience is clear." 
 
 "Your conscience? You dare to speak the word 
 when I find you robbing my safe? If Claudia had 
 
312 THE STRONGEST 
 
 been led away by your hypocrisy and had married 
 Deschars you would have let her use my money, you 
 thief you thief!" 
 
 His voice trembled with fury. The thought of his 
 money being stolen drew a froth on to his lips. He 
 wanted blood and tried to find a word for a dagger. 
 
 Henri had not made a move. "Nothing but 
 money," he said, in a low, scornful voice. "You 
 are viler than I thought. You know that if I had 
 
 been able to speak Wasn't it enough to leave 
 
 my child with you " 
 
 "But Claudia didn't want it," Harle snarled, un- 
 heeding. "Ah, the dear child who will avenge me. 
 For she is my child now. Ah! You stole my wife, 
 whom I did not love. Well, how about it? I am 
 taking your daughter whom you do love! And I 
 will never give her back. There must be a God for 
 this sweet revenge! You sneaked up and ravished 
 the honour of my house! And all that remains of 
 your cursed house I shall break up in full daylight. 
 There are reprisals for you! And I did it without 
 knowing it, by a miracle of Providence! The power 
 of work is so great that it restores everything, with- 
 out our knowing it, or talking about it. How happy 
 I would have been to take my revenge twenty years 
 ago, hi every hour of my honesty, in every hour of 
 your infamous life! I thought it was ambition; but 
 it was revenge! And now all the pleasures I missed 
 are giving me an immense joy! You stole my money 
 
THE STRONGEST 313 
 
 and my money is stealing your child. It gave her 
 another soul: a better soul, which repudiates you. 
 Go, go tell her you are her father, if you can without 
 dying of shame at her feet. Open your arms to her, 
 ask her to come back to you! She will not believe 
 you! She will drive you off as I am about to drive 
 you out of this house. And do you know why? Be- 
 cause she would not could not believe you. Be- 
 cause I have made the child of my millions out of 
 your child. And she could no more separate herself 
 from those millions than could the millions separate 
 themselves from her! The daughter of your crime 
 has become the daughter of my gold! She needs me, 
 not you, for her life the life that I prepared in spite 
 of you. Now, go. Go back to your shame, philoso- 
 pher; back to the ruined witnesses of your shame. 
 I am driving you out. Go!" 
 
 "No," retorted Henri, very quietly. "It is not 
 yet time. Let the mud of your soul fall back on you. 
 I know my faults. They are grave. I have been 
 punished for them by the life I have endured. But 
 there is someone whom I must speak of before you." 
 
 "My wife? I admire you. You haven't a spark 
 of shame left. You dare to judge between her and 
 me! You, the criminal, judging me, the victim of 
 the crime! And through her, your accomplice, a 
 wretched " 
 
 The insult was not spoken. Like a wild beast, 
 mad with blood, Puymaufray leaped upon Harle 
 
314 THE STRONGEST 
 
 with a roar. If Dominic had not retreated he would 
 have been killed. All that Henri realized was the 
 need to murder before the outrage was given words. 
 He was like a man in the agony of death, and 
 Harle recoiled. 
 
 "You are afraid," said Henri, mastering himself. 
 "Good. Now listen to me. Be silent, for I have 
 sworn that I will kill you if you open your lips. 
 There is only one thief here and it is you. You 
 stole the spirit of Claire, whose name I forbid you 
 to speak again. Yes; her soul, her youth, her can- 
 dour, her beauty, in addition to her money, which 
 you coveted you stole all these for the protection 
 you swore to give them. And when you failed to 
 find the few francs which you had expected, you 
 made yourself the executioner of her soul. You re- 
 venged yourself, with all your futile vileness, on the 
 innocent. You took pleasure in torturing her, and 
 now you are surprised that when the avenger came 
 your victim was taken from you. What I took from 
 you was not your property never had been. You 
 must know that! A woman gives herself. I must 
 tell it to you. A transaction in money has no hold 
 over her! What do you care? You followed your 
 dream of money for money's sake, crushing the 
 weak, and giving as your only reason the fact that 
 you were the strongest. Well, it is not true. You 
 are the weakest, you fool the smallest, nothing. 
 I tell it to you in the hour of your triumph. From to- 
 
THE STRONGEST 315 
 
 day you will fall. We are all avengers, one against 
 the other. I am through with the long sufferings 
 of my expiation. Thanks to you I find myself 
 again. I was powerless in the battle hesitating, 
 afraid. I wanted, at all cost, to save Claudia. 
 And now I am standing before you you who call 
 yourself the conqueror and me the conquered 
 and I say: 'You have still to pay for your victory. 
 You are marrying the Comtesse de Fourchamps. 
 If I were low enough, what worse thing could I 
 dream for my revenge? You are stealing Claudia, 
 and you boast of it. Haven't I told you that she 
 is my daughter and Claire's daughter? Our blood 
 will reassert itself, be well assured. I leave her in 
 your hands because in her madness she desires it. 
 She wants it, but she is unhappy already. She wept. 
 I heard the groans of remorse rising in her heart. 
 She has set her heart against me, against everyone. 
 But to-morrow, blessed suffering will bring her back 
 to me, her father. I will tell her everything then. 
 And I will forgive her and shall be forgiven. You 
 have made me pity. Go on dragging out your lies 
 about your gilded miseries. I have found out what 
 is the greatest thing in life. I have lived for love. 
 Now I will live for forgiveness." 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 IN THE solitude of his ancient house, Henri de 
 Puymaufray traverses his thoughts. They are 
 thoughts of defeat . . . and of victory. Some 
 pride of love gives this vanquished soul the brave 
 hope that there can be no victory against love. The 
 heat of the battle against the master of Claire, who 
 became the master of Claudia, is dissipated in the 
 calm peace of the soil. Now that Claudia is far 
 away, Claire has returned, Claire who by her own 
 strength will bring Claudia back in time. Life, 
 through suffering, will bring Claudia back to 
 love. 
 
 Weakened by the struggle, he gained strength to 
 meet contrary fortune. Claudia is already on the 
 way to forgiveness, en route for the great return to 
 him. Alas! the way is long and hard, and perhaps 
 he will be dead before the day. But he will die with 
 open arms. And even it Claudia is not to return, 
 may she be forgiven. Love does not measure its 
 strength against the weakness of the strongest. 
 
 Spring has come. The earth is reawakened, 
 flourishing. Everything feels the thrill of life and 
 bears blossom and bud and flower and fruit in an 
 
 316 
 
THE STRONGEST 317 
 
 ecstasy of love. The earth sings itself in the songs of 
 its birds. It is Paradise regained. 
 
 At nightfall Henri de Puymaufray turns from this 
 spectacle of life and dreams of his dead. 
 
 Nanette, old now, is with him, in perfect friend- 
 ship, no less admirable, perhaps, than perfect love. 
 
 Jean Quete, discharged from the factory because 
 he pleaded the cause of the workers, repudiated by 
 his companions for the disaster of the strike, is on 
 his way to Paris. Before he leaves he stops in at 
 the chateau. 
 
 "Monsieur Henri," says Jean, "you have come 
 back to us with eyes which we do not like. We said 
 they would treat you badly out there. The strong- 
 est have to tear their own hearts out first in order to 
 become the strongest. They will not always be the 
 strongest. The weakest will avenge you." 
 
 "My friend Jean," answered Henri, "your ven- 
 geance will not waken me from the sleep of death. 
 I am already more avenged than need be. What 
 are human disasters, if the goodness of the future is 
 won by them? There must be soldiers dying and 
 filling the trench before the victorious assault. 
 With wasted lives and in sorrow, the genius of living 
 humanity is created!" 
 
 THE END 
 
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