ke reflections, the high-flown will cry. So be
it. Each must love in his own way. "Air and water--air and water!" the
Vicomte had cried when he saw the men at work under my directions.
"You Englishmen are mad on the subject."

While I was engaged in these thoughts the old gentleman came to my
room, and in the next few minutes made known to me a new and
unsuspected side of his character. His manner was singularly alert. He
seemed to be years younger.

"I said I should want a man at my side--young and strong," he began,
seating himself. "Let us understand each other, Mr. Howard."

"By all means."

He gave a little laugh, and leaning forward took a quill pen from my
writing-table, disliking idle fingers while he talked.

"That time has come, my friend. Do you mean to stand by me?"

[Illustration: "LET US UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER, MR. HOWARD."]

"Yes."

"You are a man of few words," he answered, looking at me with a new
keenness which sat strangely on his benign features. "But I want no
more. The government has fallen--the doctors say the Emperor's life is
not worth that!"

And he snapped his finger and thumb, glancing at the clock. It was
eight o'clock. We had dined at half-past six.

"Can you come with me now? I want to show you the state of Paris--the
condition of the people, the way of their thoughts. One cannot know
too much of the ... people--for they will some day rule the world."

"And rule it devilish badly," I added, putting my papers together.

"We shall be late in returning," the Vicomte said to the servant who
held the carriage door. I had heard--through my thoughts--the stamping
of the horses in the courtyard and the rattle of the harness, but took
no great note of them, as the Vicomte had the habit of going out in
the evening. I noticed we never crossed the river during our silent
drive. A river has two sides, just as a street, and one of them is
usually in the shade. It was among the shadows that our business lay
this evening.

"You know," said the Vicomte, as we climbed the narrow staircase of a
quiet house in the neighbourhood of the great wine stores that adjoin
the Jardin des Plantes--"you know that this is the day of the
talkers--the Rocheforts, the Pyats--the windbags. Mon Dieu, what
nonsense! But a windbag may burst and do harm. One must watch these
gentry."

Republicanism was indeed in the air at this time. And has not history
demonstrated that those who cry loudest for a commonwealth