a man, however, has
no type in a Victor de Mauleon. The circumstances of his life had placed
this strong nature at war with society, and corrupted into misanthropy
affections that had once been ardent. That misanthropy made his ambition
more intense, because it increased his scorn for the human instruments
it employed.

Victor de Mauleon knew that however innocent of the charges that had so
long darkened his name, and however--thanks to his rank, his manners,
his savoir vivre, the aid of Louvier's countenance and the support of
his own high-born connections--he might restore himself to his rightful
grade in private life, the higher prizes in public life would scarcely
be within reach, to a man of his antecedents and stinted means, in the
existent form and conditions of established political order. Perforce,
the aristocrat must make himself democrat if he would become a political
chief. Could he assist in turning upside down the actual state of
things, he trusted to his individual force of character to find himself
among the uppermost in the general bouleversement. And in the first
stage of popular revolution the mob has no greater darling than
the noble who deserts his order, though in the second stage it may
guillotine him at the denunciation of his cobbler. A mind so sanguine
and so audacious as that of Victor de Mauleon never thinks of the second
step if it sees a way to the first.

CHAPTER VI.

The room was in complete darkness, save where a ray from a gas-lamp at
the mouth of the court came aslant through the window, when citizen Le
Roux re-entered, closed the window, lighted two of the sconces, and drew
forth from a drawer in the table implements of writing, which he placed
thereon noiselessly, as if he feared to disturb M. Lebeau, whose head,
buried in his hands, rested on the table. He seemed in a profound
sleep. At last the porter gently touched the arm of the slumberer, and
whispered in his ear, "It is on the stroke of ten, citizen; they will be
here in a minute or so." Lebeau lifted his head drowsily.

"Eh," said he--"what?"

"You have been asleep."

"I suppose so, for I have been dreaming. Ha! I hear the door-bell. I am
wide awake now."

The porter left him, and in a few minutes conducted into the salon two
men wrapped in cloaks, despite the warmth of the summer night. Lebeau
shook hands with them silently, and not less silently they laid aside
their cloaks and seated themselves. Both these me