“It is simple, M. le Sergent,” replied Morin, calmly. “The message I received to-day, through M. le Comte’s intendant, informed me, that as a correspondent of the Club, as an advocate for the right-to-absorb of the Third Estate, I was about to be dismissed from my school—unless, indeed, on the assurance, before M. le Comte’s departure, of confining my views to the elementary instruction for which I was placed there.” It was with difficulty he could proceed, for the violent uproar of surprise and resentment. “I was silent,” he at length continued: “at your usual wish I read aloud the journal of yesterday. I received the fresh message left for me, that till nine, M. le Comte would be at his hotel in Paris, for the convenience of his intendant’s communications from the chateau here, before visiting, for the first time, this club. It was the proof of a determination still postponed by M. le Comte. I remained unmoved, while mingling with the concourse to the gates yonder—without taking advantage of the last messenger to Paris—but resolved the more, as I perceived the nature, the causes of this proceeding. Had I publicly explained my intention, M. le Comte might have been unjustly accused by you—my motives in personally reaching Paris might have been misinterpreted. I was even aware that to intelligence—to integrity—to virtue—the whole world is about to become a school!” At the modest attitude, the unconscious air, touched only by a slight twinge of suffering from his foot, with which their teacher announced his private sacrifice to principles, the whole audience were struck mute; their admiration seemed to struggle silently with dismay. “For me, on the contrary,” he pursued, recovering himself by the help of his faded pocket-handkerchief, “had I gained Paris by eight, resorting straight to the Palais Royal before the admission of strangers to the club, I should have obtained the right of the tribune,—permitted after nine to speak, I would have publicly expressed the sentiments most congenial to me, which resemble his own,—without seeming to address myself to him, without his expecting it, I astonish him by my boldness, my disregard of private considerations. I expose, next, the motives of those who entangle him,—I paint the future which dawns on us so slowly,—I should at once have convinced him, my friends—and have retained my school, my position—the relation to my fellow-villagers, which I value—the power to consult their wishes, their necessities!” “It is the _plan_! Excellent! Yes, _the_ plan of Père Morin!” ejaculated a dozen hearers in delight. Monsieur Morin’s countenance had worked with animation, his gestures had grown quicker in accompaniment; and the hushed crowd burst into a scream of approbation, broken only into separate yells as the nearest bystanders looked from his face to his disabled foot, from his foot to the deepened blue of the sky, and thence to the offending carriage.