“He is the man of the Duke of Orleans; he it was who, in the Cour des Fontaines, under the shadow of the Palais Royal, published _Le Journal des Amis de la Constitution_. Robespierre hates him on account of his fame, but he is all-powerful here. It is he who disposes of the purse of the Prince. Hush! M. de Sillery, the husband of Madame de Genlis, is listening to us.” All this was Hebrew to me. I asked who M. de Sillery and Madame de Genlis were. “Ah! of course,” said he; “I forgot that you had only just arrived in Paris, from the depths of some impenetrable forest, and of course know not the names of those who are around us.” “I fancy that I know the name of M. de Sillery. If I do not deceive myself, he has been sent by the nobility of Champagne.” “Good, my boy, good!” “But it is the man,” continued I, “that I do not know.” “Well, I will tell you all about the man. We begin to know names, as well as men. Charles Alexis Brulart is a marquis, like Lafayette, but having, like him, renounced his title, on the night of the 4th of August, he calls himself Sillery, as I call myself Duplay. As to his courage, it cannot be doubted. At twenty years of age, he assisted in the campaign of the Indies, and gained his rank at the point of the sword.” “What rank did he gain?” asked I. “Captain in the navy.” “But he wears the uniform of a colonel of grenadiers.” “Yes. He has left the navy for the army; he is the accredited agent of the Duke of Orleans. In his youth, he was called Comte de Genlis; that, as I have told you, is the name of his wife. She has acquired a double, and doubtful, celebrity, as the friend of the Duke of Orleans, whose children she has educated, and as a writer, in which occupation she is at present engaged.” “But what does M. de Sillery say to all this?” asked I. Duplay lifted his brows. “No wonder M. Robespierre is not his friend!” “One cannot be friendly with Robespierre and the Duke of Orleans at the same time,” said Duplay, shaking his head. “But patience!” All eyes are turned towards a man who enters. One felt, at first sight, without knowing him, that he was some great personage. An immense forest of hair; a head resembling, for size and marked outline, a lion’s or a bull’s, indicated a ruler of the multitude. I had not time to ask Duplay who he was, for every mouth murmured the word “Mirabeau!—Mirabeau!” “Ah!” cried Duplay; “there is the hurricane that brings us news. Draw near to him, that you may say, when you return home, that you have not only seen and heard Mirabeau, but that you have touched him.” We approached; but, of a truth, it was necessary to approach in order to hear. All the audience collected round him. I looked for M. de Robespierre, to see if he pressed round like the others. He was isolated, alone, leaning against the rostrum, with a disdainful air, watching the men following the idol of popularity, like a shower of leaves after an autumn storm.