tion, and it was a sign of training to explain adequately, in a foreign tongue, especially if one were agitated, to a person in a social position very different from one's own. Hyacinth knew what the Prince's estimate of his importance must be (he could have no illusions as to the character of the people his wife received); but while he heard him carefully put one word after the other he was able to smile to himself at his needless precautions. Hyacinth reflected that at a pinch he could have encountered him in his own tongue; during his stay at Venice he had picked up an Italian vocabulary. 'With Madame Grandoni I spoke of you,' the Prince announced, dispassionately, as they walked along. 'She told me a thing that interested me,' he added; 'that is why I walk with you.' Hyacinth said nothing, deeming that better by silence than in any other fashion he held himself at the disposal of his interlocutor. 'She told me you have changed—you have no more the same opinions.'
'The same opinions?'
'About the arrangement of society. You desire no more the assassination of the rich.'
'I never desired any such thing!' said Hyacinth, indignantly.
'Oh, if you have changed, you can confess,' the Prince rejoined, in an encouraging tone. 'It is very good for some people to be rich. It would not be right for all to be poor.'
'It would be pleasant if all could be rich,' Hyacinth suggested.
'Yes, but not by stealing and shooting.'
'No, not by stealing and shooting. I never desired that.'
