'You came to me once before--I remember the incident well; I was living in the Avenue aux Abois when you summoned me to a meeting at St. Cloud.

The Monarchy might have been saved even then. It was late, but not too late. I advised a ministry of such materials as the people might trust and the court corrupt--men of low origin, violent, exacting, but venal.

Six months of such rule would have sent France back to all her ancient traditions, and the king been more popular than ever. But they would not hear me: they talked of walking in the high path of duty; and it has led some to the scaffold, and the rest to exile! But what concern have I with these things? Do you know, young man, that all your king could promise, all the mighty people themselves could bestow upon me as I lie here, could not equal the pleasure that moss-rose yields me, nor the ecstasy of delight I feel when a gentle wind blows fresh upon my cheek.

Say it out, sir; say out what that supercilious smile implies,' cried he, his eyes lighting up with all their ancient fire. 'Tell me at once it was Mirabeau the voluptuary that spoke there! Ay, and I 'll not gainsay you! If to exult in the perfection of the senses nature has given me; to drink in with ecstasy what others imbibe in apathy; to feel a G.o.dlike enjoyment where less keenly gifted temperaments had scarcely known a pleasure--if this is to be a voluptuary, I am one.'

'But why, with powers like yours, limit your enjoyment to mere sensual pleasures? Why not taste the higher and purer delight of succouring misfortune and defending the powerless?'

'I _did_ try it,' said the sick man, sighing. 'I essayed to discover the pleasures of what you would call morality. I was generous; I forgave injuries; I pardoned ingrat.i.tude; I aided struggling misery; but the reward was not forthcoming;--these things gave me no happiness.'

'No happiness!'

'None. I tried to forget I was a dupe; I did my best to believe myself a benefactor of my species; I stopped my ear against any praises from those I had befriended; but nothing in my heart responded to their joy. I was not happier. Remember, boy,' cried he, 'that even your own moralists only promise the recompense for virtue in another world. I looked for smaller profits and prompter payment. The mockery of his smile, as he spoke, seemed to wound Gerald; for, as he turned away his head, a deep flush covered his face. 'Forgive me,' said the sick man; 'I ought to have remembered that your early training was derived from those worthy men, the Jesuit Fathers; and if I cannot partic.i.p.ate in your consolations, I would not insult your convictions, Then, raising himself on one arm, he added, with a stronger effort: 'Your mission to me is a failure, Fitzgerald. I cannot aid your cause: he whose trembling hand cannot carry the gla.s.s of water to his lips can scarce replace a fallen dynasty. I will not even deceive you by saying what, if health and strength were mine, I might do--perhaps I do not know it myself. Go back and tell your Prince that he and his must wait--wait like wise physicians--till nature bring the crisis of the malady; that all they could do now would but hurt the cause they mean to serve. When France needs her princes, she will seek them even out of exile. Let them beware how they destroy the prestige of their high estate by accepting equality meanwhile. They are the priests of a religion, and can never descend to the charges of the laity. As for you, yourself, it is well that I have seen you; I have long desired to speak to you of your own fortunes. I had written to Alfieri about you, and his answer--to _you_ an important doc.u.ment--is in that box. You will find the key yonder on the ring.'

As Gerald rose to obey this direction, Mirabeau fell back exhausted on the bed, a clammy sweat breaking out over his cheeks and forehead. The cry which unconsciously escaped the youth, quickly summoned the 'sister'

to the bedside.

'This is death,' said she, in the calm, solemn voice of one long inured to such scenes. She tried to make him swallow a teaspoonful of some restorative, but the liquid dropped over his lips, and fell upon his chin. 'Death--and what a death!' muttered the sister, half to herself.

'See--see--he is coming back to himself,' whispered Gerald; 'his eyes are opening, and his lips move,' while a faint effort of the muscles around the mouth seemed to essay a smile.

Again she moistened his lips with the cordial, and this time he was able to swallow some drops of it. He made a slight attempt to speak, and as the sister bent her ear to his lips, he whispered faintly, 'Tell him to come back--tomorrow--to-morrow!'

She repeated the words to Gerald, who, feeling that his presence any longer there might be hurtful, slowly and silently stepped from the room, and descended to the street.

Late as it was, a considerable crowd was a.s.sembled before the door in front of the house; their att.i.tude of silent and respectful anxiety showed the deep interest felt in the sick man's state; and although no name was spoken, the frequent recurrence of the words 'he' and 'his'

evinced how absorbingly all thoughts were concentrated upon one individual. Nor was it only of one cla.s.s in society the crowd was composed. Mirabeau's admirers and followers were of every rank and every section of politicians; and, strangely enough, men whose public animosities had set them widely apart from each other were here seen exchanging their last tidings of the sick-room, and alternating and balancing their hopes and fears of his condition.

'Jostinard calls the malady cerebral absorption,' said one, 'as though intense application had produced an organic change.'

'Lessieux holds that the disease was produced by those mercurial baths he used to take to stimulate him on occasions of great public display,'

said another.

'There is reason to believe it a family complaint of some sort,' broke in--a third; 'the Bailli de Mirabeau sank under pure exhaustion, as if the machine had actually worn out.'

'_Pardie!_' cried out a rough-looking man in a working dress; 'it is hard that we cannot repair him with the strong materials the useless fellows are made of; there are full fifty in the a.s.sembly we could give for one like _him_.'

'You talk of maladies,' broke in a loud, full voice, 'and I tell you that the Citizen Riquetti is dying of poison--ay, start, or murmur if you will--I repeat it, of poison. Do we not all know how his power is feared, and his eloquence dreaded? Are we strangers to those who hate this great and good man?'

'Great and good he is,' murmured another; 'when shall we see his equal?'

'See, here is one who has been lately with him; let us learn his news.'

This speech was uttered by a poorly-clad man, with a red cap on his head, as Gerald was endeavouring to pierce the crowd.

'Who is the citizen who has this privilege of speaking with Gabriel Riquetti?' said Cabrot, an over-dressed man, who stood the centre of a group of talkers.

Without paying any attention to this summons, Gerald tried to pursue his way and pa.s.s on; but several already barred the pa.s.sage, and seemed to insist, as on a right, to hear the last account of the sick man. For a moment a haughty impulse to refuse all information thus demanded seemed to sway Gerald; then, suddenly changing his resolution, he calmly answered that Mirabeau appeared to him so ill as to preclude all hope of recovery, and that his state portended but few hours of life.

'Ask him who he himself is?'--'Why and how he came there?'--'What medicine is Riquetti taking?'--'Who administers it?'--'Let this man give an account of himself!' Such, and such like, were the cries that now resounded on all sides, and Gerald saw himself at once surrounded by a mob, whose demands were uttered in no doubtful tone.

'The Citizen Riquetti is one whose life is dear to the Republic,' broke in Cabrot; 'all Frenchmen have a right to investigate whatever affects that life. Some aver that he is the victim of a.s.sa.s.sination----'

'I say, and will maintain it, broke in the man who had made this a.s.sertion before; 'they have given him some stuff that causes a gradual decay.'

'Let this man declare himself. Who are you, Citizen, and whence?'

asked another, confronting Fitzgerald. 'What business came you here to transact with the Citizen Riquetti?'

'Have I asked _you_, or _you_ or _you_,' said Gerald, turning proudly from one to the other of those around him, 'of your private affairs?

Have I dared to interrogate _you_ as to who you are, whence you came, whither you go? and by what presumption do you take this liberty with _me_?'

'By that which a care of the public safety imposes,' said Cabrot. 'As Commissary of the fifth "arrondiss.e.m.e.nt," I demand this citizen's name.'

'You are right to be boastful of your liberty!' said Gerald insolently, 'when a man cannot walk the streets, nor even visit a dying friend, without submitting himself to the treatment of a criminal.'

'He a friend of Gabriel Riquetti!' burst in Cabrot. 'Look, I beseech you, at the appearance of the man who gives himself this t.i.tle.'

'So, then, it is to my humble dress you object. Citizens, this speaks well for your fraternity and equality.'

'You shall not evade a reckoning with us in this wise, said Cabrot. 'Let us take him to the Corps du Garde, citizens.'

'Ay! away with him to the Corps du Garde!' cried several together.

Gerald became suddenly struck by the rashness of his momentary loss of temper, and quietly said, 'I'll not give you such trouble, citizens.

What is it you wish to hear?'

'Your compliance comes too late,' said Cabrot; 'we will do the thing in order; off with us to the Corps du Garde!'

'I appeal to you all, why am I to be subjected to this insult?' asked Gerald, addressing the crowd. 'You deliver me to the Commissary, not for any crime or for any accusation of one; you compel me to speak about matters purely personal--circ.u.mstances which I could have no right to extort from any of _you_. Is this fair--is it just--is it decent?'

While he thus pleaded, the crowd was obliged to separate suddenly, and make way for a handsome equipage, which came up at full trot, and stopped before the door of Mirabeau's house; and a murmur ran quickly around, 'It is The Gabrielle come to ask after Riquetti'; and Cabrot, forgetting his part of public prosecutor, now approached the window of the carriage with an almost servile affectation of courtesy. Had Gerald been so disposed, nothing would have been easier for him than to make his escape in the diversion caused by this new incident, so eager was the crowd to press around and catch a glimpse of her whose gloved hand now rested on the door of the carriage.

'She is Riquetti's mistress,' cried one; 'is not she?'

'Not a bit of it. Riquetti declared he would have no other mistress than France; and though she yonder changed her name to Gabrielle to flatter him, though she has sought and followed him for more than a year, it avails her nothing.'

'Less than nothing I'd call it,' said another, 'since she pays for all those flowers that come up from the banks of the Var--the rarest roses and orange buds--just to please him.'

'More than that too; she has paid all his debts--in Paris some six hundred thousand livres--all for a man who will not look at her.'

'"That is to be a 'veritable' woman!"' said a foppish-looking man, who was for some time endeavouring to attract the attention of the fair occupant of the carriage.

Meanwhile, Gerald had pressed his way through the crowd, curious to catch one look of her whose devotion seemed so romantic.

'You see me in despair--in utter despair, Belle Gabrielle. There was no place to be had at the Francais last night, and I missed your glorious "Phedre."'

Her reply was inaudible, but the other went on--

'Of course, the effort must have cost you deeply, yet even in that counterfeit of another's sorrow who knows if you did not interpolate some portion of your own grief!'