And seeing that he was looking at her uncomprehendingly, she added— “Enough of that! It is nothing but a fancy of mine that—— What is your news?” Thereupon he went over the events of the famous day, the taking of the Bastille, the foundation of liberty. Sophie listened to him gravely; then she said— “It is our duty to rejoice, but our joy should be the austere joy which comes of sacrifice. Henceforth the French are their own men no longer; they are the servants of the Revolution which is about to reform the world.” As she was speaking the child approached and threw himself joyously across her knees. “Look, mamma! Look at my pretty garden!” Embracing him, she said— “You are right, little Emile, it is the wisest thing in the world to lay out a pretty garden.” “Yes, he is right,” added Germain; “what gallery glowing with porphyry and gold can be compared with a green alley?” And reflecting how sweet it would be to give this fair woman the support of his arm and lead her to the shade of the trees— “Ah!” he exclaimed, flashing a meaning glance at her, “what are men and revolutions to me!” “No, no!” she rejoined, “I cannot so abruptly turn my thoughts from a great people, intent on inaugurating the reign of justice. My attachment to the new ideas surprises you, Monsieur Germain. We have only known one another for quite a brief time. You are not aware, of course, that my father taught me to read in the _Social Contract_ and the Gospels. One day, as we were walking, he pointed out Jean Jacques Rousseau to me. I was only a child, but I dissolved in tears at sight of the gloomy countenance of the wisest of men. I grew up a hater of prejudice. Later on my husband, like myself a disciple of the philosophy of nature, decided that our son should be called Emile, and that he should be taught to labour with his hands. In his last letter, written three years ago on board the ship upon which he perished some days afterwards, he continues to urge on my attention Rousseau’s precepts upon education. I am saturated with the new spirit of the age. It is my conviction that we must struggle for justice and truth.” “Like yourself, Madame,” sighed Germain, “I have a horror of fanaticism and tyranny; like yourself, I am in love with liberty, but my soul is drained of its strength. At every moment my thoughts escape my control. I am no longer master of myself, and I suffer accordingly.” The young woman did not reply. An elderly man pushed open the gate and came forward with his arms raised, waving his hat. He wore neither powder nor wig. A few long grey hairs fell down on each side of his bald head. He wore a complete suit of grey ratteen; his stockings were blue and his shoes buckleless. “Victory! victory!” he cried. “The monster is delivered into our hands, Sophie, and I am the bearer of the news to you.”