“Madame,” replied the worthy man, “I am caring for your son assiduously, but yesterday I was detained by the bedside of a peasant woman in labour.” “Well now!” remarked Sophie, “wasn’t that noble of him, and oughtn’t we to be proud of our friend!” “Yes; it was fine,” replied Germain. A grave, sweet voice close beside them here interposed— “I do not know,” said the voice, “what it is that is exciting you to admiration; but it is pleasant to hear your transports. In these days there are so many admirable deeds to be witnessed.” The man who spoke wore a powdered wig and a delicate lace frill. It was Jean Duvernay. Marcel recognized his face from the engravings he had seen in the shops in the Palais Royal. “I have just come from Versailles,” said Duvernay. “I owe to the Duke of Orleans the pleasure of seeing you this memorable day, Sophie. He brought me in his coach as far as Saint Cloud. The rest of the way I travelled in the most convenient fashion—I mean on my own feet.” And as a matter of fact, his silver-buckled shoes and black stockings were covered all over with dust. Emile clung with his little hands to the steel buttons which glittered on the doctor’s coat, and Duvernay, coaxing him on to his knee, found material for smiles in glimpses at the little creature’s budding soul. Sophie summoned Nanon. A sturdy girl appeared, who picked up and carried the child off in her arms, stifling beneath resounding kisses his despairing cries. The table was laid in the garden alcove. Sophie hung her straw hat on a willow branch; her fair hair fell in curls about her cheeks. “You will sup in the simplest possible way,” she said, “in the English fashion.” From the spot where they were seated they could see the Seine, the roofs of the city, the domes and the steeples. The spectacle rendered them as silent as though they were looking out on Paris for the first time. After a while they spoke of the occurrences of the day, of the Assembly, of universal suffrage, of the breaking down of class barriers, and Monsieur Necker’s banishment. All four were agreed that a lasting liberty was at length achieved. Monsieur Duvernay foretold the rise of a new order, and applauded the wisdom of the legislators popularly elected. But his mind was not uplifted, and at times it seemed as though his hopes were alloyed with a certain uneasiness. Nicolas Franchot did not observe the same moderation. He proclaimed the peaceful triumph of the people and the era of fraternity. Vainly did the physician, vainly the young woman assure him— “It is only now that the struggle begins. We are only as yet at our first victory.”