rises respectfully to controvert: he is, say
the Newspaper Reporters, 'M. Louvet, Author of the charming Romance
of Faublas.' Steady, ye Patriots! Pull not yet two ways; with a France
rushing panic-stricken in the rural districts, and a Cimmerian Europe
storming in on you!

Chapter 2.5.IX.

Minister Roland.

About the vernal equinox, however, one unexpected gleam of hope does
burst forth on Patriotism: the appointment of a thoroughly Patriot
Ministry. This also his Majesty, among his innumerable experiments
of wedding fire to water, will try. Quod bonum sit. Madame d'Udon's
Breakfasts have jingled with a new significance; not even Genevese
Dumont but had a word in it. Finally, on the 15th and onwards to the 23d
day of March, 1792, when all is negociated,--this is the blessed issue;
this Patriot Ministry that we see.

General Dumouriez, with the Foreign Portfolio shall ply Kaunitz and the
Kaiser, in another style than did poor Delessarts; whom indeed we have
sent to our High Court of Orleans for his sluggishness. War-minister
Narbonne is washed away by the Time-flood; poor Chevalier de Grave,
chosen by the Court, is fast washing away: then shall austere Servan,
able Engineer-Officer, mount suddenly to the War Department. Genevese
Claviere sees an old omen realized: passing the Finance Hotel, long
years ago, as a poor Genevese Exile, it was borne wondrously on his
mind that he was to be Finance Minister; and now he is it;--and his poor
Wife, given up by the Doctors, rises and walks, not the victim of nerves
but their vanquisher. (Dumont, c. 20, 21.) And above all, our Minister
of the Interior? Roland de la Platriere, he of Lyons! So have the
Brissotins, public or private Opinion, and Breakfasts in the Place
Vendome decided it. Strict Roland, compared to a Quaker endimanche, or
Sunday Quaker, goes to kiss hands at the Tuileries, in round hat and
sleek hair, his shoes tied with mere riband or ferrat! The Supreme
Usher twitches Dumouriez aside: "Quoi, Monsieur! No buckles to his
shoes?"--"Ah, Monsieur," answers Dumouriez, glancing towards the ferrat:
"All is lost, Tout est perdu." (Madame Roland, ii. 80-115.)

And so our fair Roland removes from her upper floor in the Rue
Saint-Jacques, to the sumptuous saloons once occupied by Madame Necker.
Nay still earlier, it was Calonne that did all this gilding; it was he
who ground these lustres, Venetian mirrors; who polished this inlaying,
this veneering and or-moulu; and