to oblige Madame Sforza, and three weeks later discovered that she had
sold his pictures to pay for her gown! You people simply run it into the
ground. You kill the goose that when taken at the flood leads on to
fortune. It advertises you, does the lion no good, and he is expected to
be satisfied with confectionery, material and theoretical. If they are
getting tired of candy and compliments, it's because you have forced too
much of it upon them."

"They like it, just the same," retorted Récamier. "A genius likes nothing
better than the sound of his own voice, when he feels that it is falling
on aristocratic ears. The social laurel rests pleasantly on many a noble
brow."

"True," said Xanthippe. "But when a man gets a pile of Christmas wreaths a
mile high on his head, he begins to wonder what they will bring on the
market. An occasional wreath is very nice, but by the ton they are apt to
weigh on his mind. Up to a certain point notoriety is like a woman, and a
man is apt to love it; but when it becomes exacting, demanding instead of
permitting itself to be courted, it loses its charm."

"That is Socratic in its wisdom," smiled Portia.

"But Xanthippic in its origin," returned Xanthippe. "No man ever gave me
my ideas."

As Xanthippe spoke, Lucretia Borgia burst into the room.

"Hurry and save yourselves!" she cried. "The boat has broken loose from
her moorings, and is floating down the stream. If we don't hurry up and do
something, we'll drift out to sea!"