“Ah! if I could inspire such homage from women, and such power among men!” said Robespierre, with a sort of bitter sadness. “Count Mirabeau carries the heart of France with him.” “But it may not be forever,” said Louison, almost in a whisper. “What would Mirabeau be if the faith of the people fell from him?” “You ask this question, mademoiselle?” “Why not? All men should be watched. The price of liberty is eternal vigilance. Some American said that; or, is it my own thought? I cannot tell; but some day the place of Mirabeau will be vacant. Who is ready to fill it?” “Mademoiselle, you suggest an impossibility.” “There is but one man in France. Others may not see it; but to me his destiny is plain. That man, shrouded in modesty, stands before me.” “Mademoiselle!” “That man is Maximilien Robespierre.” Louison moved swiftly away, as she spoke, and left the man standing quite alone, so amazed, that he did not move till she was out of sight. Then he turned from the course he was pursuing, and went to his sordid lodgings, inspired by new ambition. Louison had divined the one great weakness in his character, and, while inspiring his vanity, aroused a more powerful ambition than she dreamed of. Still, she had spoken something of the truth, and with her quick intellect saw more in this lean, little man than those who sat with him every day had yet discovered. “That is well done!” said Louison, as she walked toward the Chaussée d’Anton. “This man is becoming a favorite with the people. He is shrewd, cold-hearted, indomitable. Sooner or later he will stand in the path of Mirabeau, perhaps undermine the foundations of his popularity; for, much as Robespierre loves France, he hates the count. Yes, yes; I did well to flatter the man. My next effort shall be with Marat.” Louison fairly started with surprise when she reached the residence of which Mirabeau had just taken possession. It was a grand structure, that had been abandoned as it stood, by some noble emigrant, who was now safe upon the borders. The eloquent demagogue had rather seized than hired the building, with all its luxurious appointments; and, even at that early day, was entertaining a party of riotous friends in the grand saloon. A servant, out of livery, but still richly dressed, opened the door, and let a flood of light upon Louison where she stood, with calm audacity, waiting for admission, as if the place had been her own home. The servant had belonged to the noble family by which the house had been deserted, and recognised the woman in her real character. When she asked for Mirabeau, he answered, with something like a sneer in his voice, that the count was entertaining his friends, and must not be disturbed.