Drouet went forward, and examined the construction in question with more interest than it deserved. “Good—very good!” he said. “Go on as you are doing, my boy; and, believe me, it is far better to work for the public, than to be a game-keeper dependent on a prince, liable to be turned away should a wild boar make an unforeseen bolt, or a wolf force the line of beaters.” “But,” answered I, “you must know that I have a gun, Monsieur Jean Baptiste; and a gun, too, given me by the Duke D’Enghien.” And saying this, I showed him the cherished weapon, with as much pride as my uncle had displayed in exhibiting my efforts at wardrobe making. “A pretty gun,” he said, looking at it attentively; “and I see that it bears the royal mark. If you take my advice, you will not hesitate between the plane which your father left you, and a gun which a prince gave you. The carpenter’s plane is the bread-winner that the philosopher of Geneva put into the hands of his favorite pupil; and ever since the day that ‘Emile’ appeared, the plane has been ennobled.” “What is ‘Emile,’ Monsieur Jean Baptiste?” I asked. “It is the work of one who teaches that all men are citizens together, and that all citizens are brothers. Keep your gun, Réné, to preserve your country; but also keep your plane to preserve your independence. Be a carpenter to the people at large, my boy; but be no one’s servant, not even if he be a prince. The first opportunity I have, I will send you ‘Emile’ to read.” So saying, and squeezing the hand of his old friend, M. Jean Baptiste remounted his horse. As I held his stirrup he lifted me gently to his saddle bow, and placed his hand on my head. “Réné Besson,” he said, with dignity, “in the name of that grand future of liberty, with which France is even now in travail, I baptize thee citizen.” Then relinquishing me, and striking his spurs into his horse, he disappeared down the forest. Next day a messenger came from M. Jean Baptiste Drouet, who, faithful to his promise of the night before, sent me a little book, with these words written on the first page— “To the Citizen Réné Besson, carpenter.” The little book in question was “Emile.” CHAPTER II. THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH. When I came to examine the book which M. Jean Baptiste had sent me, and the title of which was “Emile, or Education,” I sought out the chapter which had direct reference to my own case. In the course of my search I came across the following paragraph:—