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100 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
"Perfectly," I said; "I v\as walking in the procession
of the students."’ But I did not mention the fact that I
was one of that special mob on which he had been so
anxious to fire. My sense of justice had been outraged
because that particular stand had been reserved for a
favoured few and denied to the people on a public festival.
I had been on the side of the attacking party, and had
not forgotten the stones which I had flung at the soldiers.
The moment I heard him pronounce the word ’"mob "
with aristocratic disdain, I remembered and understood
my feeling of discomfort in entering the enemy’s fortress,
and the sudden change which had come over my friend’s
features at my sarcasms depressed me. The hatred of
race, the hatred of caste, tradition, rose between us like
an insurmountable barrier, and as I regarded him sitting
there, the sword between his knees—a SAvord of honour,
the hilt of A\ hich was ornamented with the name and crown
of the royal giver—I felt strongly that our friendship was
but an artificial one, the work of a woman, who constituted
the only link between us. The haughty tone of his voice,
the expression of his face, seemed more and more in
harmony with his surroundings and took him further and
further away from me. To bridge over the gulf which
separated us, I changed the conversation and inquired
after his wife and little daughter. Instantly his brow
cleared, his features relaxed and resumed their normal
expression of good-nature. Seeing him look at me with
the benevolent eyes of the ogre caressing Tom Thumb, I
made bold to pull three hairs out of the ogre’s beard.
’’Cousin Matilda is expected at Easter, isn’t she?"
I asked.
"She is."
" I shall make love to her."
He emptied his glass. "You can try," he sneered,
with a murderous scowl.
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