'Make your best provisions for stability: destruction will always be a simple task,' cried the deep voice. 'You talk of burning,' cried he, in a louder tone; 'what do you mean to do when your fire goes out?

materials must fail you at last. What then? You will have heaped many a good and useful thing upon that pile you will live to regret the loss of. What will you do, besides, with those you have taught to dance round these bonfires?'

'Langeac says it is an experiment we are trying,' replied another; 'and, for my part, I am satisfied to accept it as such.'

'Nay, nay,' interposed a soft, low voice; 'I said that untried elements in government are an experiment only warrantable in extreme cases; just as the physician essays even a dangerous remedy, when he deems his patient hopeless.'

'But it's your own quackeries here have made all the mischief,' broke in the deep voice. 'If the sick man sink, it is yourselves have been the cause.'

'Was there ever a royal cause that had not its own fatal influences?'

said another.

'There is an absurd reliance on prestige, a trust in that phantom called Divine right, that blinds men against their better reason. This holiday faith is but a sorry creed in times of trouble.'

'Far from this being the case,' said the deep voice, 'you will not concede to kings what you would freely grant to your equals. You reject their word, you distrust their oath, you prejudge their intentions, and suspect their honour.'

'Why, Mirabeau, you ought to be at Versailles,' said another, laughing.

'The pavilion of the Queen is more your place than the table of the Tiers-etat.'

'So thinks he himself,' broke in the low voice. 'He expects to pilot the wreck after we have gone off on the raft.'

'Four o'clock,' exclaimed another, pushing his chair hastily back as he arose; 'and here is D'Entraigues fast asleep these two hours.'

'No, _parbleu!_ muttered a drowsy voice. 'I closed my eyes when the Bordeaux was finished, and began to reflect on Lafayette's breakfast.

Isn't this the day?'

'To be sure. You are coming, Mirabeau?'

'Of course, we will all be there.'

'I must be at St. Frotin by seven o'clock,' said one.

'And I have to see Marigni at the mill of Montmorency, by the same hour.'

'A duel?'

'Yes; they are both Vendeans, and may kill each other without damage to the State.'

'He was going to say Republic!' cried another, laughing.

'Who talks of a Republic?' interposed a rough voice angrily.

'Be calm, messieurs--all religions are to be respected,'

'True, Mirabeau; but this is to proclaim none.'

'Who knows? They never excavate near Rome but they discover some long-forgotten deity! Can you or I venture to say what new faith may not arise out of these ashes?'

'Let it but repudiate the law of debt and discountenance marriage,' said another, 'and I am its first convert.'

'Good-bye, Mirabeau, adieu,' cried several together, and they were now heard descending the stairs. Meanwhile, Mirabeau drew back the curtain and looked out upon the street.

'Whom have we got here?' said the first who issued forth from the door, and saw Gerald standing before him.

'What is it? who does he want?' cried Mirabeau, as he saw them in conversation.

'One of your peasants, Mirabeau, with, doubtless, a Provencal cheese and some olives for you.'

'Or a letter of loving tidings from that dear uncle,' cried another; 'the only one who ever knew the real goodness of your nature.'

'Let him come up,' said Mirabeau, as he closed the window.

When Gerald reached the top of the stair, he saw in front of him a large, powerfully-built man, who, standing with his back to the light, had his features in deep shadow.

'You are the Count de Mirabeau?' began Gerald.

'And you--who are you?' responded he quickly.

'That you shall know, when I am certain of whom I am addressing/

'Come in,' said the Count, and walked before him into the room. He turned about just as the door closed, and Gerald, fixing his eyes upon him, cried out, 'Good heavens! is it possible? Signor Gabriel!'

'Now for your own name, my friend,' said Mirabeau calmly.

'Don't you know me, then? don't you remember the boy you saved years ago from death in the Roman Maremma--Fitzgerald?'

'What!' said Mirabeau, in the same calm voice, 'you Fitzgerald? I should never have recognised you.'

'And are you really the Count de Mirabeau?'

'Gabriel Riquetti, Count de Mirabeau, is my name,' replied he slowly.

'How did you find me out? What chance led you here?'

'No chance, nor accident. I have come expressly to see and speak with you. I am a Garde du Corps, and have a.s.sumed this disguise to gain access to you unremarked.'

'A Garde du Corps!' said the Count, in some surprise.

'Yes, Signor Gabriel. My life has had its turns of good and ill fortune since we parted--the best being that I serve a great prince and a kind master.'

'Well said, but not over-prudent words to utter in the Faubourg St.

Antoine,' rejoined the Count, smiling. 'Go on.'

'I have come with a message from Monsieur, to desire you will hasten immediately to St. Cloud, where he will meet you. Secrecy and speed are both essential, for which reasons he intrusted me with a mere verbal message, but to secure me your confidence he gave me this ring.'

Mirabeau smiled, and with such a scoffing significance that Gerald stopped, unable to proceed further.

'And then?' said Mirabeau.

'I have no more to add, Monsieur,' said Gerald haughtily. 'My commission is fulfilled already.'