"You endorse your brother's principles, mademoiselle? You too are a Socialist?" "I honor labor--any and all kinds of labor. They say they admire it, but do they work? Ah no! Once my Charles was different. We come of laboring people. Our father owned a few fields, which we cultivated ourselves. I kept the dairy and assisted in harvest and at the vintage. Those were happy days. The good curé taught us to read and write, and lent my brother books, but Charles has forgotten his kindness. He was discontented even then, and would throw stones at the park-wall that surrounded the château near our property, and scowl at the little marquises as they passed us on horseback when we were afoot." "How did you come to Paris?" I asked, seeing that in her present state of excitement speaking relieved her. "Our parents died: my brother had a taste for painting, and wished to go to Paris and study. Monsieur le curé had given him some lessons and was proud of his talent: he counselled me to accompany Charles, and came with us to get me a place in a shop and recommend Charles to an artist of his acquaintance; and yet Charles says the curés are not our friends! The rent of our fields, with what I received, supported us. We had two little rooms and lived together, Charles and I. He made such rapid progress! The portrait you bought he painted at my request in the evening, while I sewed beside him. We were so happy. O mon Dieu! why could it not have lasted?" She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears, but only for a moment: before I could think what to say to comfort her she was again speaking: "I do not often weep, but this dress depresses me: it is ill-omened." "Do not think so: you are tired, over-wrought, to-night. The danger is past, and maybe you can persuade your brother to return to his art, and happier days will come." "Impossible! When he first joined the society I tried in vain. Now he belongs to it heart and soul. He has set an example of communism by selling our land and giving the proceeds to the cause, and he now lives on contributions, which he is not ashamed to take, because he believes that what the earth produces is common to all, and he only receives his rightful share." "But you also belong--is it not so?" "When I found he would not return I followed: we could not be separated." "And you share all his danger?" "All," she answered firmly. "Danger shared is lessened, you know. Where he is, I am. But I wished to speak of your affairs. I forgot myself: sorrow is selfish. You must write to your employers and give some explanation of your absence: in a week at furthest I trust you will be able to return without annoyance. I will see that information which will exculpate you is given to the authorities. And, as far as my brother and myself are concerned, I know from your face I can trust you."