never to
go. I should never get on with the--" I wondered what she was going to
say; the fogs, the smoke, or whist with sixpenny stakes?--"I should never
get on," she said, "with the aristocracy! I am a fierce democrat--I am
not ashamed of it. I hold opinions which would make my ancestors turn in
their graves. I was born in the lap of feudalism. I am a daughter of
the crusaders. But I am a revolutionist! I have a passion for
freedom--my idea of happiness is to die on a great barricade! It's to
your great country I should like to go. I should like to see the
wonderful spectacle of a great people free to do everything it chooses,
and yet never doing anything wrong!"

I replied, modestly, that, after all, both our freedom and our good
conduct had their limits, and she turned quickly about and shook her fan
with a dramatic gesture at Pickering. "No matter, no matter!" she cried;
"I should like to see the country which produced that wonderful young
man. I think of it as a sort of Arcadia--a land of the golden age. He's
so delightfully innocent! In this stupid old Germany, if a young man is
innocent he's a fool; he has no brains; he's not a bit interesting. But
Mr. Pickering says the freshest things, and after I have laughed five
minutes at their freshness it suddenly occurs to me that they are very
wise, and I think them over for a week." "True!" she went on, nodding at
him. "I call them inspired solecisms, and I treasure them up. Remember
that when I next laugh at you!"

Glancing at Pickering, I was prompted to believe that he was in a state
of beatific exaltation which weighed Madame Blumenthal's smiles and
frowns in an equal balance. They were equally hers; they were links
alike in the golden chain. He looked at me with eyes that seemed to say,
"Did you ever hear such wit? Did you ever see such grace?" It seemed to
me that he was but vaguely conscious of the meaning of her words; her
gestures, her voice and glance, made an absorbing harmony. There is
something painful in the spectacle of absolute enthralment, even to an
excellent cause. I gave no response to Pickering's challenge, but made
some remark upon the charm of Adelina Patti's singing. Madame
Blumenthal, as became a "revolutionist," was obliged to confess that she
could see no charm in it; it was meagre, it was trivial, it lacked soul.
"You must know that in music, too," she said, "I think for myself!" And
she began with a great many flou