eave
you, struggling, bewildered, maddened, in the midst of chaos within and
without you'? Shall a fellow-being do this, and vanish with a mocking
cry: 'Tool! I have had enough of thee; I cast thee aside as worthless
lumber'? Ah! let him beware! The tool is of iron, and can be shaped
to edge and point." The passion with which this rough eloquence was
uttered, and the fierce sinister expression that had come over a
countenance habitually open and manly, even when grave and stern,
alarmed and startled Le Noy. "Pooh, my friend!" he said, rather
falteringly, "you are too excited now to think justly. Go home and kiss
your children. Never do anything that may make them shrink from their
father. And as to Lebeau, try and forget him. He says he shall disappear
from Paris. I believe him. It is clear to me that the man is not what
he seemed to us. No man of sixty could by so easy a sleight of hand have
brought that giant Pole to his knee. If Lebeau reappear it will be
in some other form. Did you notice that in the momentary struggle his
flaxen wig got disturbed, and beneath it I saw a dark curl. I suspect
that the man is not only younger than he seemed, but of higher rank--a
conspirator against one throne, perhaps, in order to be minister under
another. There are such men."

Before Monnier, who seemed struck by these conjectures, collected his
thoughts to answer, a tall man in the dress of a sous lieutenant stopped
under a dim gas-lamp, and, catching sight of the artisan's face, seized
him by the hand, exclaiming, "Armand, mon frere! well met; strange
times, eh? Come and discuss them at the cafe de Lyon yonder over a bowl
of punch. I'll stand treat."

"Agreed, dear Charles."

"And if this monsieur is a friend of yours, perhaps he will join us."

"You are too obliging, Monsieur," answered Le Noy, not ill-pleased to
get rid of his excited companion; "but it has been a busy day with me,
and I am only fit for bed. Be abstinent of the punch, Armand. You are
feverish already. Good-night, Messieurs."

The cafe de Lyon, in vogue among the National Guard of the quartier, was
but a few yards off, and the brothers turned towards it arm in arm. "Who
is the friend?" asked Charles; "I don't remember to have seen him with
thee before."

"He belongs to the medical craft--a good patriot and a kind man--attends
the poor gratuitously. Yes, Charles, these are strange times; what dost
thou think will come of them?"

They had now entered the