e contrary, he chanced to say to Maria: "Mind, God does not
wish you to do that!" Luisa would immediately add: "That is wicked! You
must never do what is wicked!" In such cases some dissension must
inevitably arise between the parents, for the moral judgment of one was
not always in harmony with the moral judgment of the other. Once they
were standing together at the window of the hall, while Maria played
with a little girl of about her own age from Oria. A brother of the
child passed, a tyrant of eight, and ordered his little sister to follow
him. She refused and wept. But Maria, looking very grave, faced the
tyrant with clenched fists. Franco restrained her by a sharp command;
the little one turned and looked at him, and then burst into tears,
while the tyrant dragged his victim away. Luisa left the window, saying
in an undertone to her husband: "Excuse me, but that was not just." "Why
was it not just?" said Franco, and he became heated and raised his
voice, demanding whether his wife wished Maria to grow up pugilistic and
violent. She answered gently and firmly, overlooking some sharp words of
his, and maintaining that Maria's impulse had been good; that our first
duty is to withstand tyranny and injustice; and that, though the child
use his fists, the man would use more civilised weapons; but if the
natural impulse of the soul be repressed in the child, there was danger
of destroying the nascent sense of justice as well.

Franco would not be convinced. According to him it was very doubtful
whether Maria had harboured any such heroic sentiments. She had simply
been angry because she was to be deprived of her playmate, that was all.
Besides, was it not a woman's place to oppose gentle meekness to
injustice and tyranny, to appease and correct the offender, rather than
repulse the offence by force? Luisa flushed crimson, and replied that
this role might suit some women, perhaps the best of women, but it would
certainly not suit all, for not all were so meek and humble.

"And you are of that number?"

"I believe so."

"A fine thing to boast of!"

"Does it grieve you very much?"

"Very much indeed."

Luisa placed her hands on his shoulders. "Does it grieve you very much,"
said she, "that I rebel as you yourself do against the presence of these
masters in our house; that I desire as you yourself do, to help, even
with my hands, in driving them out? Or would you prefer to see me
attempt to correct Radetzky and appea