When doubt or despondency weighed upon his mind, all the crafty reasoning of Mirabeau and all the sensual teachings of Rousseau came freshly to his memory. They told him of a world of conflict and struggle, but also a world of voluptuous pleasure and abandonment. They sneered at the ideal pretexts men called loyalty and fidelity, and they counselled the enjoyment of the present as the only true philosophy.

'Tell me you are sure of being alone to-morrow,' said Diderot, 'and I will listen to how you mean to spend it.' like evil spirits that love the night, these dark thoughts were sure to seek him in his hours of gloomy depression.

There was, with all this, a sense of pique as he compared his own position with that which Marietta had already won for herself. 'We started together in the race, thought he, 'and see where she has distanced me! That poor friendless girl is already a social influence and a power, while I am a mere hanger-on of men, who use me in dangers that show how little they regard me. What rare abilities must she possess! What a marvellous insight into the human heart and all its varied workings! How ingeniously, too, has she contrived to interweave with her dramatic power the stranger and more mysterious workings of a supernatural influence! How far is she the dupe of her own deceptions?'

This was a thought not easily solved, knowing her well as he did, and knowing how often she was the slave of her own pa.s.sionate impulses. 'I will see her to-night with my own eyes, and mayhap be able to read her aright.'

The receptions of Madame Roland were among the 'events' of the day. They were the rendezvous of all that was most advanced and extravagant in republicanism. Thoroughly true-hearted and single-minded herself, she was rapidly attracted to those men who declaimed against courts and courtly vices, and sincerely believed that virtue only resided beneath lowly roofs and among narrow fortunes. Her sincere enthusiasm--the genuine ardour of a character that had no duplicity in it--added to considerable personal charms, gave her a vast influence in the society wherein she moved. She was not strictly handsome, but her features were of extreme delicacy, and capable of expression the most refined and captivating; but her voice was the spell which, it is said, never failed to fascinate those who heard it.

In the management of this marvellous instrument of captivation was, perhaps, the solitary evidence of anything like study or artifice about her. She knew how to attune and modulate it to perfection; and even they who p.r.o.nounced her conversational powers as inferior to Madame de Stael's, were ready to confess that the melody and softness of her utterance gave her an unquestionable advantage. Married to a man more than double her age, she exercised a complete independence in all the arrangements of her household, inviting whom she pleased, bringing together in her salons ingredients the most dissimilar, and representatives of cla.s.ses the widest apart.

Gerald had more than once heard of these receptions, and was curious to witness them; he wished, besides, to see some of the men whom the popular will declared to be the great leaders of party, and whose legislative ability was regarded as the hope of France.

'Do not flatter yourself that you are about to be struck by any intellectual display,' whispered De Noe, as he led him up the stairs.

'For the most part, you will hear nothing but violent tirades against royalty, and coa.r.s.e abuse of a society of which the speaker knows nothing.'

The salons, which were small, were crammed with company, so that for some time Gerald had little other occupation than to scrutinise the appearance of the guests, and the strange extravagances of that costume which they had come to a.s.sume distinctively.

'Look yonder,' whispered De Noe, 'at the tall, dark man, like a Spaniard, with his long hair combed back and falling on his neck. That is Lanthenas, _l'ami de la maison_; he lives here. Were she any one else, people would call him her lover; but "La Manon," as they style her, has no heart to bestow on such emotion; she is with her whole soul in politics, and only cares for humanity when counted by millions.'

'Who is the pert-looking, conceited fellow he is talking to?' asked Gerald.

'That is Louvet, the great literary hero of the day. Seven editions of an indecent novel, sold in as many weeks, have made him rich as well as famous; and the author of _Faublas_ is now courted and sought after on all sides.'

As the crowd thickened, De Noe could but just tell the names of the more remarkable characters without time for more. There was Pelleport, a marquis by birth, but now a spy, and libelist of the lowest cla.s.s, side by side with Condorcet, the optimist philosopher, and Brissot, the wildest enunciator of republicanism. Carsu, with a dozen penal sentences over his head, was talking familiarly with old Monsieur Roland himself, a simple-hearted old egotist, vain, harmless, and conceited. Yonder, entertaining a group of ladies by the last scandals of the day, told as none but himself could tell them, was Gaudet, a young lawyer from Lyons, his dress the exaggeration of all that const.i.tuted the republican mode; while looking on, and with air at once rebuking and amused, stood Dumont, his staid features and simple attire the modest contrast to the other's finery.

'A young friend of mine, just come from Italy, Madame, said De Noe, suddenly perceiving Madame Roland's eyes fixed on Fitzgerald.

'And "of us"?' said she significantly.

'a.s.suredly, Madame, or I had not dared to present him,' said De Noe, bowing.

'You must not say so, sir. Do you know,' said she, addressing Gerald, 'that it was only last week he brought a bishop here, Monseigneur de Blois.'

'Ah! but be just, Madame; he had been degraded for immorality,' broke in De Noe, laughing.

'You should have shared his penalty, Monsieur De Noe,' said she, half coldly, and moved on.

'Come, Gerald, let me present you to some of my ill.u.s.trious friends.

Whom will you know? That choleric old lady there, a dismissed court lady, and the sworn enemy of the queen; or her daughter, the pretty widow, playing trictrac with Fabre d'eglantine? Or shall I introduce you to that dark-eyed beauty, whose foot you are not the first man that ever admired? She is, or was, La Comtesse de Ratignolles, but calls herself Julie Servan on her books.

'Why don't you answer me? What are you thinking of? Ah, parbleu! I see well enough. It is the Gabrielle; and the tall, pale man she leans upon is Talma. Is not that enough of homage, _mon cher_? See how they rise to let her pa.s.s. We have been courtiers in our day, Gerald, but did you ever see a more queenly presence than that?'

It was truly, as De Noe described, like the pa.s.sage of royalty. Marietta swept by, bowing slightly to either side, and by an easy gesture of her hand seeming half to decline, half accept, the honours that were paid her. Refusing with a sort of haughty indifference the seat prepared for her at the end of the room, she moved on toward a small boudoir, and was lost to Gerald's view. Indeed, his attention was rapidly directed elsewhere, as a small, dark-eyed man in the centre of the room proceeded to entertain the company with an account of Mirabeau's last moments. It was the Doctor Cabanis, who had tended his sickbed with such devotional affection, and whose real attachment had soothed the last sufferings of his patient. If there was something in Gerald's estimation more than questionable in this exposure of all that might be deemed most sacred and private, the narrative was full of little details that interested him.

The dreadful mockery by which Mirabeau endeavoured to cheat death of his terrors, as, dressed, perfumed, and essenced, he lay upon his last bed, all surrounded with flowers, was told with a thrilling minuteness.

Through all the a.s.sumed calm, through all the acted philosophy, there crept out the agonising eagerness for life, that even _his_ dissimulation could not smother. His incessant questioning as to this symptom or that, whether it indicated good or evil; the intense anxiety with which he scrutinised the faces around his bed, to read the thoughts their words belied, were all related; and, strangely enough, a.s.sumed to imply that they were the last desires of a patriot who only longed for life to serve his country. Of those who listened, many doubted the honesty and good faith of his character; some thought him a royalist in disguise; some deemed him a lukewarm patriot; some even regarded him as so dest.i.tute of principle, that his professions were good for nothing; and yet amid all these disparaging estimates, they regarded this deathbed, where no consolations of religion were breathed, where no murmur of prayer was heard, nor one supplication for mercy raised, as a glorious triumph! It was to _their_ eyes the dawning of that transcendent brightness which was to succeed the long night of priestcraft and superst.i.tion; and however ready to cavil at his doctrines or dispute his theories, there was but one voice--to honour _him_ who with his last breath had defied the Church.

'_Ah, que c'est beau!' 'Ah que c'est magnifique!_' were the mutterings on every side. One only circ.u.mstance detracted in any way from the effect of these revelations; it was, that he who made them momentarily gave vent to his feelings and shed tears. This homage to human frailty jarred upon the cla.s.sic instincts of the a.s.sembly. It was an ign.o.ble weakness, unworthy of such a theme; and in a tone of stern rebuke, Fabre d'eglantine interrupted the speaker, and said--

'Your grief is unbecoming, sir; such sorrow insults the memory you mean to hallow! If you would learn how the death of Mirabeau should be accepted, go yonder, and you will see.' He pointed as he spoke toward the boudoir, and thither with a common impulse the crowd now moved.

A warning gesture from Talma, as he stood in the doorway, and with uplifted hand motioned silence, arrested their steps, and, awestruck by the imposing att.i.tude of one whose slightest gesture was eloquent, they halted. Mixed in the throng, Gerald could barely catch a glimpse of the scene beyond. He could, however, perceive that Marietta was lying in a sort of trance; a crown of 'immortelles' that she had been weaving had fallen from her hand, and lay at her feet; her hair, too, had burst its bands, and fell in large waving ma.s.ses over her neck and arms; the faintest trace of colour marked her cheeks, and sufficed to show that she had not fainted.

Lanthenas laid his finger softly on her wrist, and in a cautious whisper said, 'The pulse is intermittent, the "acces" will be brief.'

'We were talking of the death of Caesar,' said Talma, 'when the attack came on. She would not have it that Brutus was a patriot. She tried to show that in such natures--stern, cold, and self-denying--patriotism can no more take root than love. I asked her then if Gabriel Riquetti were such a man----'

'Hush! she is about to speak,' broke in Madame Roland.

A few soft murmuring sounds escaped Marietta's lips, and her fingers moved convulsively.

'What is it she says,' cried Louvet, 'of crime and poison?'

'Hush! listen.'

'Examine Comps,' muttered she; 'he knows all.'

'It is Mirabeau's secretary she speaks of,' said Louvet, 'he committed suicide last night.'

'No; he is not dead, though his wound may prove fatal,' said Cabanis.

'He will live,' said Marietta solemnly, and then seemed to sink into a deep stupor.

'Yes, trust me, I will tell him,' cried she suddenly, with a voice as a.s.sured and an accent as firm as though awake. 'Come here and let me whisper it.'

One after another bent down beside the couch, but she repulsed them sharply, and with a half-angry gesture motioned them away.

Madame Roland knelt down and took her hand, but with the same abrupt movement the other pushed her away, muttering, 'No, not you--not you.'

Again and again did they who knew her best present themselves, but with the same ill success. Some she drove rudely back, to others she made a sign to retire.

'Mayhap the person is not present that you wish for,' said Madame Roland softly.

'He is here,' said she gently.

Name after name of those around did Madame Roland whisper, but all without avail. At last, as Langres presented himself, Marietta turned with a sort of aversion from him and said--

'I am in search of a prince, and you bring me a butcher.'

This insulting speech was not heard without a smile by some who knew this man's origin, and detested the coa.r.s.e ruffianism of his address.

'_Parbleau_, Madame! if you want princes you must go and seek them at the Francais,' said Langres angrily, as he dropped back into the crowd.

Meanwhile, impelled by a strong desire to test the reality of her vision, Gerald made his way through the throng, and dropping on one knee, took her hand in his own.

A start and a faint exclamation--half surprise, half joy--broke from her as she felt his touch. She pa.s.sed her hand over his face, and through his long hair, and then bending down kissed him on the forehead. She whispered a few words rapidly in his ear, and sank back exhausted.

'She has fainted! Bring water quickly,' cried Lanthenas.