all be like some huge
fair, and meantime the big bell of the basilica, "La Savoyarde," would be
ringing peal on peal over the holiday-making multitude.

When Pierre entered the workroom in the morning he perceived Guillaume
and Mere-Grand alone there; and a remark which he heard the former make
caused him to stop short and listen from behind a tall-revolving
bookstand. Mere-Grand sat sewing in her usual place near the big window,
while Guillaume stood before her, speaking in a low voice.

"Mother," said he, "everything is ready, it is for to-day."

She let her work fall, and raised her eyes, looking very pale. "Ah!" she
said, "so you have made up your mind."

"Yes, irrevocably. At four o'clock I shall be yonder, and it will all be
over."

"'Tis well--you are the master."

Silence fell, terrible silence. Guillaume's voice seemed to come from far
away, from somewhere beyond the world. It was evident that his resolution
was unshakable, that his tragic dream, his fixed idea of martyrdom,
wholly absorbed him. Mere-Grand looked at him with her pale eyes, like an
heroic woman who had grown old in relieving the sufferings of others, and
had ever shown all the abnegation and devotion of an intrepid heart,
which nothing but the idea of duty could influence. She knew Guillaume's
terrible scheme, and had helped him to regulate the pettiest details of
it; but if on the one hand, after all the iniquity she had seen and
endured, she admitted that fierce and exemplary punishment might seem
necessary, and that even the idea of purifying the world by the fire of a
volcano might be entertained, on the other hand, she believed too
strongly in the necessity of living one's life bravely to the very end,
to be able, under any circumstances, to regard death as either good or
profitable.

"My son," she gently resumed, "I witnessed the growth of your scheme, and
it neither surprised nor angered me. I accepted it as one accepts
lightning, the very fire of the skies, something of sovereign purity and
power. And I have helped you through it all, and have taken upon myself
to act as the mouthpiece of your conscience.... But let me tell you
once more, one ought never to desert the cause of life."

"It is useless to speak, mother," Guillaume replied: "I have resolved to
give my life and cannot take it back.... Are you now unwilling to
carry out my desires, remain here, and act as we have decided, when all
is over?"

She did not answer this