As this cry burst from the throat of France, Royalists and Jacobins trembled. The Jacobins said, “The King, with his smile, and the Queen, with her white lips, will fascinate the credulous people from the provinces, and will cause them to turn against us, and the revolution will be at an end.” The Royalists said, “To bring these provincials, already ripe for tumult, to Paris, the centre of agitation, is but bringing oil to feed the lamp of revolution. Who can say what will be the effect of this immense concourse, and what fearful events may come to pass through the incursions of two hundred and fifty thousand souls, from all quarters of France, into Paris?” But the impulse was given, and the movement could not be stayed. France wished, with that powerful will which nothing could arrest, to know itself. The corporation of Paris demanded of the Assembly the general federation. The Assembly, pretending to accord to their wish, named the 14th of July, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. The news was propagated among all the provinces of the kingdom; but as they feared so great an assemblage in Paris, and wished to put all possible obstacles in their way, all expenses were put down to the charge of the localities. All our department clubbed together. I was comparatively rich, having in my possession three or four hundred crowns, gained by my own labor, and saved by my own economy. Father Descharmes had offered to give me what sum I wanted; but I refused to accept anything. For some time, the poor old man had been declining in health. He had served princes all his life, and now missed them. One thing greatly perplexed him, and that was, whether France had the right to act as it was acting? They had offered him a deputyship to the federation; but he shook his head, saying, “I am too old; Réné will go in my place.” Afterwards, he had a long conversation with M. Drouet, in the course of which he gave him some papers, which he sorted with care, put in his portfolio, and took to St. Menehould. On the eve of departure, a carriage drove up to the door of my uncle’s cottage; and, to my astonishment, I saw Sophie and her father alight from it. I rushed out with a cry of joy, but suddenly stopped myself. What would Sophie—what would her father think? Father Gerbaut smiled. Sophie made a step in advance, and gave me her hand. “Well, how is old Nimrod getting on?” said Father Gerbaut to my uncle, who had just come out of his room. “As well as can be expected at my age, M. Gerbaut. It is necessary for the violet to blossom in spring, and the beech-tree to put forth its buds in May. He is just sixteen and a half years old. When I was at that age, I already had a sweetheart.” I felt myself blushing to the very tips of my ears. “Ah! I never had but one love. But where are you going to in this fashion?” asked my uncle; “for I cannot think that you came all this way on purpose to pay me a visit.”