"Where are you going now?" she
added.
"Well, I'm going to take you home," he said, as he turned and walked by
her side down the hill.
"Denzil will be glad to see you. He almost thinks I'm a curse."
Carnac smiled. "All genius is at once a blessing or a curse. And what
does Denzil think of me?"
"Oh--a blessing and a curse!" she said whimsically.
"I don't honestly think I'm a blessing to anybody in this world.
There's no one belonging to me who believes in me."
"There's Denzil," she said. "He believes in you."
"He doesn't belong to me; he isn't my family."
"Who are your family? Is it only those who are bone of your bone and
flesh of your flesh? Your family is much wider, because you're a genius.
It's worldwide--of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped
to save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because
he's got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche belongs
to you, because he's almost a genius too."
"Barouche is a politician," said Carnac with slight derision.
"That's no reason why he shouldn't be a genius."
"He's a Frenchman."
"Haven't Frenchmen genius?" asked the girl.
Carnac laughed. "Why, of course. Barode Barouche--yes, he's a great
one: he can think, he can write, and he can talk; and the talking's the
best that he does--though I've not heard him speak, but I've read his
speeches.
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