"When one says Germany today, Madame, one means Prussia; and to these people good faith
is a word of mockery. For such men as Thyssen and Hugenberg, and for the Jewish money-
lenders, the name 'Republic' is a form of camouflage. I speak frankly, because it is all in the
family, as it were."
"Assuredly," said the hostess.
"Every concession that we make is met by further demands. We have withdrawn from the
Rheinland, and no longer have any hold upon them, so they smile up their sleeves and go on
with their rearming. They waited, as you have seen, until after our elections, so as not to alarm
us; then, seeing the victory of the left, they overthrow their Catholic Chancellor, and we see a
Cabinet of the Barons, as it is so well named. If there is a less trustworthy man in all Europe
than Franz von Papen, I would not know where to seek him."
Irma perceived that you might invite a French Nationalist to the most magnificent of homes
and serve him the best of dinners, but you would not thereby make him entirely happy.
Practicing her new role of
this succeeded no better, for it turned out that Charlot, the young engineer, had joined the
Croix de Feu, one of the patriotic organizations which did not propose to surrender
either to the Reds or to the Prussians. The Croix de Feu used the technique of banners and
uniforms and marching and singing as did the Fascists of Italy and the Nazis of Germany; but
Lanny said: "I'm afraid, Charlot, you won't get so far, because you don't make so many
promises to the workers."
"They tell the people falsehoods," said the young Frenchman, haughtily; "but we are men of
honor."
"Ah, yes," sighed his old friend; "but how far does that go in politics?"
"In this corrupt republic, no distance at all; but we have set out to make France a home for
men who mean what they say".
Lanny spoke no more. It made him sad to see his two foster sons —they were supposed to be
something like that—going the road of Fascism; but there was nothing he could do about it. He
knew that their mother had shared these tendencies. They were French patriots, and he
couldn't make them internationalists, or what he called "good Europeans."
X
Having had such a dose of reaction, he had to have one of hope. He said to Irma: "I really
ought to call on Leon Blum, and perhaps take him out to lunch. Would you care to come
along?"
"But Lanny," she exclaimed, "what is this house for?"
"I didn't suppose you'd want to have him here."
"But dear, what kind of home will it be if you can't bring your friends?"
He saw that she was determined to be fair. He guessed that she had talked the matter out
with the wise Emily, and was following the latter's program. If one's husband must have vices, let
him have them at home, where they may be toned down and kept within limits. After all, Leon
Blum was the leader of the second largest political party in France; he was a scholar and a
poet, and had once had a fortune. In the old days, as a young aesthete, he had been a frequenter
of Emily's salon; now he had exchanged Marcel Proust for Karl Marx, but he remained a
gentleman and a brilliant mind. Surely one might invite him to lunch, and even to dinner—if
the company was carefully chosen. Emily herself would come; and Lanny knew from this that
the matter had been discussed.
He took the good the gods had provided him. The Socialist leader sat in the same chair
which Denis de Bruyne had filled, and maybe he felt some evil vibrations, for he spoke very
sadly. In the midst of infinite corruption he was trying to believe in honesty; in the midst of
wholesale cruelty he was trying to believe in kindness. The profit system, the blind competitive
struggle for raw materials and markets, was wrecking civilization. No one nation could change
this by itself; all must help, but someone must begin, and the voice of truth must be heard
everywhere. Leon Blum spoke tirelessly in the Chamber, he wrote daily editorials for
table of a friend, and then stop and apologize, smiling and saying that politics ruined one's
manners as well as one's character.
He was a tall slender man with the long slim hands of an artist; a thin, sensitive face, an
abundant mustache which made him a joy to the caricaturists of the French press. He had
been through campaigns of incredible bitterness; for to the partisans of the French right it was
adding insult to injury when their foes put up a Jew as their spokesman. It made the whole
movement of the workers a part of the international Jewish conspiracy, and lent venom to all
Fascist attacks upon France. "Perhaps, after all, it is a mistake that I try to serve the cause,"
said the statesman.
He was ill content with the showing which his party had made at the polls. A gain of
seventeen was not enough to save the day. He said that immediate and bold action was
