the
Revolution would consume itself. Out of anarchy and blood men would seek
the deliverance of a dictator, and the real hope of the monarchists was
in making terms with him.

'You will meet no acceptance for those opinions from your friends; they
are too lukewarm for sanguine loyalty; they are, besides, to be the work
of time. But think and ponder them, Fitzgerald. Go out to-morrow
into the streets, and count how many heads must fall before men will
condescend to reason; the gaunt and famished faces you will meet are
scarcely the guarantees of a long tranquillity. If the Monarchy is ever
to come back to France, it is the mob must restore it.'

'These are Mirabeau's words,' said Gerald quickly.

'It was a craftier than Mirabeau explained them, though,' broke in De
Noe, 'the shrewd and subtle Maurice de Talleyrand! But let us turn
to ourselves and our own fortunes. What are we to do that France may
benefit by our valuable services? How are our grand intelligences to
redound to the advantage of the nation?'

'I confess I have no plans. I grow weary of this inglorious life I lead.
If there was an army in whose ranks I could fight, I 'd turn a soldier,
and care little in what cause.'

'I guess the secret of your recklessness, Gerald; I read it in every
word you speak.'

'How so? What do you mean?'

'You are in love, _mon cher_. These are the promptings of a hopeless
passion.'

'You were never more wrong in your life,' said Gerald, blushing till his
face and forehead were crimson.

'Would you try to deceive a man trained to the subtleties of such a life
as mine? Do you fancy that a "mouchard" cannot read the thoughts that
men have scarcely confessed to themselves? It is not their privilege to
win confidences, but to extort them; and so, I tell you again, Gerald,
you are in love.'

'And again I say, you are mistaken; I have but to remind you of the
life I lead--its cares and duties--to show you how unlikely, if not
impossible, is such an event.'

'Bah!' said the other scoffingly. 'You stand at the door of the opera.
As the crowd pours out, a shawled and muffled figure hastily passes to
her carriage; she speaks a word or two, and the tones are in your heart
for years after. The diligence drives at daybreak through some country
village; a curtain is hastily withdrawn, and a pair of eyes meet yours,
in which there is no expression save a pleased surprise; and yet you
think of them in far-away lands, and across se