“Then have no fear, for on all sides our prospects are brightening. This coalition once made, our good father opens his money-bags, then all this harassing anxiety about finance will be at an end. You did me good service with the old gentleman, my brother, though he did wince now and then, as the conviction was forced upon him that we were in fact, as well as in sentiment, equals before the people, in defiance of the blue blood of his ancestors. It was amusing to see how the old man’s prejudices rose against this simple fact. He did not comprehend that the people glory in having persons of the old pure descent advocating their cause; why that old buffoon, the Duc de Orleans, has seized upon the idea, and even now is using it against the king. If this old renegade only had brains, he might prove a dangerous man. As it is, he is sure to make some stupid blunder, from which even that clever woman, De Genlis, cannot save him; so the best wisdom is to leave him to work out his own ruin. This prince has ambition, and nothing else. Now tell me all that passed at Versailles.” Mirabeau had by this time exhausted his excitement, and sat down to listen. Monsieur Jacques informed him, in a few brief words, of all that had passed during his absence. When he had finished, the count arose and took his hat from the table. “Let us go and pay our respects to Madame Gosner,” he said. “It will be pleasant to congratulate her.” Monsieur Jacques arose reluctantly, and the two men went out together. CHAPTER XXXIX. A VISITOR AFTER DARK. The governor of the Bastille had retired to his own apartments within that grim old fortress. All the duties of the day had been performed. The allowance of black bread and impure water had been doled out to the prisoners, and the doors closed, leaving them in utter darkness. All these horrible duties being settled to his satisfaction, the governor was ready for his own luxurious supper, and sat waiting for it with some impatience. Originally this man was neither hard-hearted or cruel; but holding a position where these qualities were exacted from him, they had gradually become a part of his nature. Unlimited power of the worst kind had made him a tyrant, and hardened his heart to iron. As this man sat, calm and indifferent, in an atmosphere of misery, which rose around him like a miasma, a grim, stalwart man, in the dress of a keeper, knocked at the door and stood upon the threshold, removing the cap from his head in token of respect for the presence he was in. The governor turned in his chair and recognized the man. “Well, Christopher, what news from the city? A little more quiet, I hope.” “Not a bit,” answered the keeper, promptly. “I have been among the clubs, as you bade me, and have made my observations. The feeling of discontent grows stronger and stronger.”