today. Without which we would be, technologically, back
in the dark ages from which they rescued us."

"It's not the stuff they bring in from outside that runs this technology,"
the uncle said. "It's some power they've got that we can't seem to figure
out. Though Lord knows we've tried," he added musingly.

"Of course they have their own source of power," Ludovick informed
them, smiling to himself, for his old Belphin teacher had taken great
care to instill a sense of humor into him. "A Belphin was explaining
that to me only today."

Twenty heads swiveled toward him. He felt uncomfortable, for he was a
modest young man and did not like to be the cynosure of all eyes.

"Tell us, dear boy," the uncle said, grabbing Ludovick's glass from the
plinth and filling it, "what exactly did he say?"

"He said the Belphins rule through the power of love."

The glass crashed to the tesserae as the uncle uttered a very unworthy
word.

"And I suppose it was love that killed Mieczyslaw and George when they
tried to storm the Blue Tower----" old Osmond began, then halted at the
looks he was getting from everybody.

Ludovick could no longer pretend his neighbors were a group of eccentrics
whom he himself was eccentric enough to regard as charming.

"So!" He stood up and wrapped his mantle about him. "I knew you were
against the government, and, of course, you have a legal right to disagree
with its policies, but I didn't think you were actual--actual--" he
dredged a word up out of his schooldays--"_anarchists_."

[Illustration]

He turned to the girl, who was looking thoughtful as she stroked the
glittering jewel that always hung at her neck. "Corisande, how can you
stay with these--" he found another word--"these _subversives_?"

She smiled sadly. "Don't forget: they're my family, Ludovick, and I owe
them dutiful respect, no matter how pig-headed they are." She pressed
his hand. "But don't give up hope."

That rang a bell inside his brain. "I won't," he vowed, giving her hand
a return squeeze. "I promise I won't."

* * * * *

Outside the Flockhart villa, he paused, struggling with his inner self.
It was an unworthy thing to inform upon one's neighbors; on the other
hand, could he stand idly by and let those neighbors attempt to destroy
the social order? Deciding that the greater good was the more
important--and that, moreover, it was the only way of taking Corisande
away from all