as silence. Then he said, still
as if reflecting:

"Isn't it queer? In that moment of faintness all my life flashed through
my mind."

"It has been a very successful life," Carmen said, by way of saying
something.

"Yes, yes; but I wonder if it was worth while?"

"If I were a man, I should enjoy the power you have, the ability to do
what you will."

"I suppose I do. That is all there is. I like to conquer obstacles, and
I like to command. And money; I never did care for money in itself.
But there is a fascination in building up a great fortune. It is like
conducting a political or a military campaign. Now, I haven't much
interest in anything else."

As he spoke he looked round upon the crowded shelves of his library,
and, getting up, went to the corner where there was a shelf of rare
editions and took down a volume.

"Do you remember when I got this, Carmen? It was when I was a bachelor.
It was rare then. I saw it quoted the other day as worth twice the price
I gave for it."

He replaced it carefully, and walked along the shelves looking at the
familiar titles.

"I used to read then. And you read still; you have time."

"Not those books," she replied, with a laugh. "Those belong to the last
generation."

"That is where I belong," he said, smiling also. "I don't think I have
read a book, not really read it, in ten years. This modern stuff
that pretends to give life is so much less exciting than my own daily
experience that I cannot get interested in it. Perhaps I could read
these calm old books."

"It is the newspapers that take your time," Carmen suggested.

"Yes, they pass the time when I am thinking. And they are full of
suggestions. I suppose they are as accurate about other things as about
me. I used to think I would make this library the choicest in the city.
It is good as far as it goes. Perhaps I will take it up some day--if
I live." And he turned away from the shelves and sat down. Carmen had
never seen him exactly in this humor and was almost subdued by it.

He began to talk again, philosophizing about life generally and his own
life. He seemed to like to recall his career, and finally said: "Uncle
Jerry is successful too, and he never did care for anything else--except
his family. There is a clerk in my office on five thousand a year who is
never without a book when he comes to the office and when I see him on
the train. He has a wife and a nice little family in Jersey. I ask him
sometimes