"No," said Serpuhovskoy, frowning with vexation at being
suspected of such an absurdity. "_Tout ça est une blague_.
That's always been and always will be. There are no communists.
But intriguing people have to invent a noxious, dangerous party.
It's an old trick. No, what's wanted is a powerful party of
independent men like you and me."
"But why so?" Vronsky mentioned a few men who were in power.
"Why aren't they independent men?"
"Simply because they have not, or have not had from birth, an
independent fortune; they've not had a name, they've not been
close to the sun and center as we have. They can be bought
either by money or by favor. And they have to find a support for
themselves in inventing a policy. And they bring forward some
notion, some policy that they don't believe in, that does harm;
and the whole policy is really only a means to a government house
and so much income. _Cela n'est pas plus fin que ça_, when you get
a peep at their cards. I may be inferior to them, stupider
perhaps, though I don't see why I should be inferior to them.
But you and I have one important advantage over them for certain,
in being more difficult to buy. And such men are more needed
than ever."
Vronsky listened attentively, but he was not so much interested
by the meaning of the words as by the attitude of Serpuhovskoy
who was already contemplating a struggle with the existing
powers, and already had his likes and dislikes in that higher
world, while his own interest in the governing world did not go
beyond the interests of his regiment. Vronsky felt, too, how
powerful Serpuhovskoy might become through his unmistakable
faculty for thinking things out and for taking things in, through
his intelligence and gift of words, so rarely met with in the
world in which he moved. And, ashamed as he was of the feeling,
he felt envious.
"Still I haven't the one thing of most importance for that," he
answered; "I haven't the desire for power. I had it once, but
it's gone."
"Excuse me, that's not true," said Serpuhovskoy, smiling.
"Yes, it is true, it is true...now!" Vronsky added, to be
truthful.
"Yes, it's true now, that's another thing; but that _now_ won't
last forever."
"Perhaps," answered Vronsky.
"You say _perhaps_," Serpuhovskoy went on, as though guessing his
thoughts, "but I say _for certain_. And that's what I wanted to
see you for. Your action was just what it should have been. I
see that, but you ought not to keep it up. I only ask you to
give me carte blanche. I'm not going to offer you my
protection...though, indeed, why shouldn't I protect you?--
you've protected me often enough! I should hope our friendship
rises above all that sort of thing. Yes," he said, smiling to
him as tenderly as a woman, "give me _carte blanche_, retire from
the regiment, and I'll draw you upwards imperceptibly."