The unfortunate lady, having gathered her veil closely over her face, so as completely to conceal it, took the road to Bernay, and, entering the town by the Rue des Jardins, crossed the square in front of the Abbey, and speedily made her way to the Place S. Croix, where dwelt the priest. The day being somewhat chilly, Thomas Lindet was seated before the fire in the kitchen; his brothers, Robert and Peter, were with him. Robert was an attorney in practice at Bernay, Peter was supposed to help him in the office, but as the practice was small, and Peter was constitutionally incapable of attending to business, or of doing anything systematically, his value was nil. The brothers were remarkable contrasts. Some years later, when the events of the Revolution had developed their characters, they were nicknamed Robert le Diable, Thomas l’Incredule, and Pierre le Fou. It is needless to say that these names were given them by their enemies. Only in the first dawn of Christianity do we find a nickname given in a spirit of charity--Barnabas, the Son of Consolation. These names were partly just and partly unjust. Robert was never a devil; Thomas was, perhaps, a doubter; Peter was certainly a fool. Robert had an intelligent face, much like that of his brother the curé; his lips were habitually arched with a smile; it was difficult to decide whether the smile was one of benevolence or of sarcasm. An ironical twinkle in his eye led most who had dealings with him to suspect that he was internally jesting at them, when they received from him some mark of courtesy or esteem. A thorough professional acquaintance with the injustice of the _ancien régime_, had made him as desirous of a change as his brother Thomas. He had the same passionate love of right and liberty, the same vehemence, but his strong clear judgment completely governed and modulated his impulses. He was scrupulously honest and truthful. The Revolution rolled its course around him, and he became one of its most important functionaries, without compromising his character, without losing his integrity; under every form of government he served, being found an invaluable servant in the interest of his country, true to France and to his conscience. He had no love for power; he dreaded its splendour: he loved only to have work and responsibility. He was less a man of politics than of administration. His extreme caution was a subject of reproach, but it saved his neck from the guillotine in the Reign of Terror, and his probity, which left him unenriched by the public moneys which had passed through his hands, preserved him from exile in 1816. Of him the great Napoleon said: ‘I know no man more able, and no minister more honest.’ The innumerable difficulties with which he had to deal in administrative and financial practice during the Revolution, occupied his close attention, and he shunned public discussion, in which he knew he should not shine, that he might be the soul of committees.