Short of killing him.

What is happening to me? she wondered. First I think of extortion by threatening to expose Lady Ashworth's sin, and now I actually think of murdering my husband's brother. Is the mere exposure to Calvin a temptation? Does his heartfire influence mine?

Wouldn't that be nice, to be able to blame Calvin for my own failings?

One thing Margaret was sure of: The seeds of all sins were in all people. If it were not so, how would it be virtue when they refrained from acting on those impulses? She did not need Calvin to teach her to think of evil. She only needed to be frustrated at her inability to change events, at her helplessness to save her husband from a doom that she so clearly saw and that Alvin himself seemed not to care about. The desire to force others to bend or break to her will was always there, usually hidden deeply enough that she could forget she had that wish within her, but occasionally surfacing to dangle the ripe fruit of power just out of her reach. She knew, as few others did, that the power to coerce depended entirely on the fear or weakness of other human beings. It was possible to use coercion, yes, but in the end you found yourself surrounded only by the weak and fearful, with all those of courage and strength arrayed against you. And many of your strong, brave enemies would match you in evil, too. The more you coerced others, the sooner you would bring yourself to the moment of your doom.

It would even happen to Napoleon. Margaret had seen it, for she had examined his hot black heartfire several times when she was checking on Calvin during his stay in France. She saw the battlefield. She saw the enemies arrayed against him. No coercion, not even fueled by Napoleon's seemingly irresistible knack, could build a structure that would last. Only when a leader gathered willing followers who shared his goals could the things he created continue after his death. Alexander proved that when his empire collapsed in fragments after his death; Charlemagne did little better, and Attila did worse– his empire evaporated upon his death. The empire of the Romans, on the other hand, was built by consensus and lasted two thousand years; Mohammed's empire kept growing after his death and became a civilization. Napoleon's France was no Rome, and Napoleon was no Mohammed.

But at least Napoleon was trying to create something. Calvin had no intention of building anything. To make things was his inborn knack, but the desire to build was foreign to his nature; the persistence to build was contrary to his temperament. He was weak himself, and fearful. He could not bear scorn; he feared shame more than death. This made him think he was brave. Many people made that mistake about themselves. Because they could stand up to the prospect of physical pain or even death, they thought they had courage– only to discover that the threat of shame made them comply with any foolish command or surrender any treasure, no matter how dear.

Calvin, what can I do with you? Is there no way to kindle true manhood in your fragile, foolish heart? Surely it's not too late, even for you. Surely in some of the million divergent paths of your heartfire there is one, at least, in which you find the courage to admit Alvin's greatness without fearing that others will then scorn you for being weaker. Surely there's a moment when you choose to love goodness for its own sake, and cease to care about what others think of you.

Surely, in any heap of straw, there is one strand which, if planted and tended, watered and nurtured, will live and grow.

Honor‚ de Balzac trotted along behind Calvin, growing more annoyed by the moment. «Slow down, girder-legs, you will wear me down to a stub trying to keep up with you.»

“You always walk so slow,” said Calvin. “Sometimes I got to stride out or my legs get jumpy.”

“If your legs are jumpy then jump.” But the argument was over– Calvin was walking more slowly now. “This sister-in-law of yours, what makes you think she'll pay for dinner?”

“I told you, she's a torch. The Napoleon of torches. She'll know before she comes downstairs to meet us that I don't have a dime. Or a shilling. Whatever they call it here.”

“So she'll turn around and go back upstairs.”

“No,” said Calvin. “She'll want to meet me.”

“But Calvin, my friend, if she is a torch then she must know what is in your heart. Who could want to meet you then?”

Calvin rounded on him, his face a mask of anger. “What do you mean by that?”

For a moment, Honor‚ was frightened. «Please don't turn me into a frog, Monsieur le Maker.»

“If you don't like me, why are you always tagging along?”

“I write novels, Calvin. I study people.”

“You're studying me?”

“No, of course not, I already have you in my mind, ready to write. What I study is the people you meet. How they respond to you. You seem to wake up something inside them.”

“What?”

“Different things. That is what I study.”

“So you're using me.”

“But of course. Were you under some delusion that I stayed with you for love? Do you think we are Damon and Pythias? Jonathan and David? I would be a fool to love you like such a friend.”

Calvin's expression grew darker yet. “Why would you be a fool?”

“Because there is no room for a man like me in your life. You are already locked in a dance with your brother. Cain and Abel had no friends– but then, they were the only two men alive. Perhaps the better comparison is Romulus and Remus.”

“Which one am l?” asked Calvin.

«The younger brother,» said Honor‚.

“So you think he'll try to kill me?”

“I spoke of the closeness of the brothers, not the end of the story.”

“You're playing with me.”

«I always play with everybody,» said Honor‚. «It is my vocation. God put me on the earth to do with people what cats do to mice. Play with them, chew the last bit of life out of them, then pick them up in my mouth and drop them on people's doorsteps. That is the business of literature.»

“You take a lot of airs for a writer who ain't had a book printed up yet.”

“There is no book big enough to contain the stories that fill me up. But I will soon be ready to write. I will go back to France, I will write my books, I will be arrested from time to time, I will be in debt, I will make huge amounts of money but never enough, and in the end my books will last far longer than Napoleon's empire.”

“Or maybe it'll just seem that way to the folks who read them.”

“You will never know. You are illiterate in French.”

“I'm illiterate in most every language,” said Calvin. “So are you.”

“Yes, but in the illiteracy competition, I will concede to you the laurels.”

“Here's the house,” said Calvin.

Honor‚ sized it up. «Your sister-in-law is not rich, but she spends the money to stay in a place that is respectable.»

“Who says she ain't rich? I mean, think of it. She knows what folks are thinking. She knows everything they've ever done and everything they're going to do. She can see the future! You can bet she's invested a few dollars here and there. I bet she's got plenty of money by now.”

«What a foolish use of such a power,» said Honor‚. «The mere making of money. If I could see into another person's heart, I would be able to write the truest of novels.»

“I thought you already could.”

“I can, but it is only the imagined soul of the other person. I cannot be sure that I am right. I have not been wrong yet about anyone, but I am never sure.”

“People ain't that hard to figure out,” said Calvin. “You treat it like some mystery and you're the high priest who has the word straight from God, but people are just people. They want the same things.”

“Tell me this list as we go inside out of the sun.”

Calvin pulled the string to ring the doorbell. “Water. Food. Leaking and dumping. Getting a woman or a man, depending. Getting rich. Having people respect you and like you. Making other people do what you want.”