"Surely in this world that which is apt to bring inevitable misery with
it must be accounted a fault."
"But can constancy do that?"
"Don't you think so, into a world of ceaseless change?"
"Then how shall we reckon truth in a world of lies?" asked the Count.
"Is that a fault, too?"
"Ask Monsieur Androvsky," said Domini, quickly.
"I obey," said the Count, looking over at his guest.
"Ah, but I am sure I know," Domini added. "I am sure you think truth a
thing we should all avoid in such a world as this. Don't you, Monsieur?"
"If you are sure, Madame, why ask me?" Androvsky replied.
There was in his voice a sound that was startling. Suddenly the priest
reached out his hand and lifted Bous-Bous on to his knee, and Count
Anteoni very lightly and indifferently interposed.
"Truth-telling among Arabs becomes a dire necessity to Europeans. One
cannot out-lie them, and it doesn't pay to run second to Orientals. So
one learns, with tears, to be sincere. Father Roubier is shocked by my
apologia for my own blatant truthfulness."
The priest laughed.
"I live so little in what is called 'the world' that I'm afraid I'm very
ready to take drollery for a serious expression of opinion.
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