hese concluding words: "You have
done well, your book was a chimera."

"Yes, a chimera, a piece of childishness, and I have condemned it myself
in the name of truth and reason."

A smile appeared on the dolorous lips of the impotent hero. "Then you
have seen things, you understand and know them now?"

"Yes, I know them; and that is why I did not wish to go off without
having that frank conversation with you which we agreed upon."

Orlando was delighted, but all at once he seemed to remember the young
fellow who had opened the door to Pierre, and who had afterwards modestly
resumed his seat on a chair near the window. This young fellow was a
youth of twenty, still beardless, of a blonde handsomeness such as
occasionally flowers at Naples, with long curly hair, a lily-like
complexion, a rosy mouth, and soft eyes full of a dreamy languor. The old
man presented him in fatherly fashion, Angiolo Mascara his name was, and
he was the grandson of an old comrade in arms, the epic Mascara of the
Thousand, who had died like a hero, his body pierced by a hundred wounds.

"I sent for him to scold him," continued Orlando with a smile. "Do you
know that this fine fellow with his girlish airs goes in for the new
ideas? He is an Anarchist, one of the three or four dozen Anarchists that
we have in Italy. He's a good little lad at bottom, he has only his
mother left him, and supports her, thanks to the little berth which he
holds, but which he'll lose one of these fine days if he is not careful.
Come, come, my child, you must promise me to be reasonable."

Thereupon Angiolo, whose clean but well-worn garments bespoke decent
poverty, made answer in a grave and musical voice: "I am reasonable, it
is the others, all the others who are not. When all men are reasonable
and desire truth and justice, the world will be happy."

"Ah! if you fancy that he'll give way!" cried Orlando. "But, my poor
child, just ask Monsieur l'Abbe if one ever knows where truth and justice
are. Well, well, one must leave you the time to live, and see, and
understand things."

Then, paying no more attention to the young man, he returned to Pierre,
while Angiolo, remaining very quiet in his corner, kept his eyes ardently
fixed on them, and with open, quivering ears lost not a word they said.

"I told you, my dear Monsieur Froment," resumed Orlando, "that your ideas
would change, and that acquaintance with Rome would bring you to accurate
views far more readily t