of Tours; and there he
established what was practically a dictatorship. He flung himself with
tremendous energy into the task of organizing armies, of equipping them,
and of directing their movements for the relief of Paris. He did, in
fact, accomplish wonders. He kept the spirit of the nation still
alive. Three new armies were launched against the Germans. Gambetta was
everywhere and took part in everything that was done. His inexperience
in military affairs, coupled with his impatience of advice, led him
to make serious mistakes. Nevertheless, one of his armies practically
defeated the Germans at Orleans; and could he have had his own way, even
the fall of Paris would not have ended the war.

"Never," said Gambetta, "shall I consent to peace so long as France
still has two hundred thousand men under arms and more than a thousand
cannon to direct against the enemy!"

But he was overruled by other and less fiery statesmen. Peace was made,
and Gambetta retired for a moment into private life. If he had not
succeeded in expelling the German hosts he had, at any rate, made
Bismarck hate him, and he had saved the honor of France.

It was while the National Assembly at Versailles was debating the terms
of peace with Germany that Gambetta once more delivered a noble and
patriotic speech. As he concluded he felt a strange magnetic attraction;
and, sweeping the audience with a glance, he saw before him, not very
far away, the same woman with the long black gloves, having about
her still an air of mystery, but again meeting his eyes with her own,
suffused with feeling.

Gambetta hurried to an anteroom and hastily scribbled the following
note:

At last I see you once more. Is it really you?

The scrawl was taken to her by a discreet official, and this time she
received the letter, pressed it to her heart, and then slipped it into
the bodice of her gown. But this time, as before, she left without
making a reply.

It was an encouragement, yet it gave no opening to Gambetta--for she
returned to the National Assembly no more. But now his heart was full of
hope, for he was convinced with a very deep conviction that somewhere,
soon, and in some way he would meet this woman, who had become to him
one of the intense realities of his life. He did not know her name. They
had never exchanged a word. Yet he was sure that time would bring them
close together.

His intuition was unerring. What we call chance often seems to know
what