Socialists often declared, it was evident that the
blood of a dictator flowed in that sectarian's veins. His feverish,
stubborn rhetoric ended by exhausting his interrupters, who were
compelled to listen to him. When he at last decided to leave the tribune,
loud applause arose from a few benches on the left.

"Do you know," said Massot to the General, "I met Mege taking a walk with
his three little children in the Jardin des Plantes the other day. He
looked after them as carefully as an old nurse. I believe he's a very
worthy fellow at heart, and lives in a very modest way."

But a quiver had now sped through the assembly. Barroux had quitted his
seat to ascend the tribune. He there drew himself erect, throwing his
head back after his usual fashion. There was a haughty, majestic,
slightly sorrowful expression on his handsome face, which would have been
perfect had his nose only been a little larger. He began to express his
sorrow and indignation in fine flowery language, which he punctuated with
theatrical gestures. His eloquence was that of a tribune of the romantic
school, and as one listened to him one could divine that in spite of all
his pomposity he was really a worthy, tender-hearted and somewhat foolish
man. That afternoon he was stirred by genuine emotion; his heart bled at
the thought of his disastrous destiny, he felt that a whole world was
crumbling with himself. Ah! what a cry of despair he stifled, the cry of
the man who is buffeted and thrown aside by the course of events on the
very day when he thinks that his civic devotion entitles him to triumph!
To have given himself and all he possessed to the cause of the Republic,
even in the dark days of the Second Empire; to have fought and struggled
and suffered persecution for that Republic's sake; to have established
that Republic amidst the battle of parties, after all the horrors of
national and civil war; and then, when the Republic at last triumphed and
became a living fact, secure from all attacks and intrigues, to suddenly
feel like a survival of some other age, to hear new comers speak a new
language, preach a new ideal, and behold the collapse of all he had
loved, all he had reverenced, all that had given him strength to fight
and conquer! The mighty artisans of the early hours were no more; it had
been meet that Gambetta should die. How bitter it all was for the last
lingering old ones to find themselves among the men of the new,
intelligent and shre