The chair was brought, and set by the bedside, and as Château-Foix took his seat, after being relieved of his hat and cane, the Vicomte relapsed on to his pillows, and looked at his visitor with his brilliant smile. It was evident that the slight cloud under which the two had parted was passed from his mind, and for his part the Marquis was content that it should be so. For a moment he was conscious of a feeling very near akin to a rush of affection. As he lay there, in the midst of these vernal glories, Louis looked extraordinarily innocent and boyish, a very Prince Charming of happy fortunes and gay auguries—yet in what dark mesh of intrigue and fate was he entangled! And Gilbert knew that all his arguments and eloquence might once more beat themselves in vain against that airy tenacity of purpose. But he had braced himself to patience. Last night he had taken the wrong path to bring about the salvation of a person who took things as little seriously as did Louis. That characteristic had always fretted Château-Foix in the past; it was hard now to find it taking on all the appearance of a wrong-headed heroism in place of the more facile flippancy it used to wear. Meanwhile the Vicomte looked supremely at his ease, lying with his left arm under his head, his right buried in the bedclothes. He was so obviously waiting in expectation of a remark of some sort that Gilbert complied by asking somewhat abruptly: “Why are you still in bed?” “Parbleu! because it is too early to get up.” Château-Foix could not help smiling. “That is a matter of opinion, it seems to me,” he retorted. “Oh, I did not suppose that our views would coincide,” returned the Vicomte pleasantly. “But whereas you, my dear Gilbert, are a stranger in Paris of late, and may find enough of novelty in the present state of affairs to drag you from your bed at unseasonable hours, I, as an inhabitant, am far from sharing your enthusiasm. It has lost the charm of novelty for me. But you can see your beloved _tiers-état_ behaving here in a way you never dreamed of at Chantemerle. Go through the Faubourg Saint Antoine. Have you been to the Cordeliers for a little oratory? If so, and you happen to have heard Marat, Desmoulins, or Danton, you might go to the Halles, and compare the oratory there. But you must forgive my not accompanying you, for I assure you that the daily repetition of these demonstrations has become excessively boring to me.” Before Gilbert had time to reply to this unusual view of the state of Paris the solemn old Jasmin entered with the chocolate. “Really, my dear Louis,” remarked his cousin as the door closed, “it had not occurred to me to make a tour round Paris to see the sights! And so, with the foundations of the world crumbling around you, you stay in bed because you are—bored!” “Or sleepy,” finished the Vicomte calmly. “Take some chocolate, Gilbert—no, I don’t want any—and tell me then how you propose to amuse yourself to-day.”