Mirabeau listened eagerly. There was romance in this—a mother and daughter devoting their lives to the hope of winning freedom for an innocent man, had something sublime in it, which kindled his imagination, and touched all that was good in his heart. He took out a well-worn purse, which contained only a piece or two of gold, and emptied it on the table. “See that there is no more starvation. Women like these must not be permitted to suffer,” he said, thrusting the empty purse back into a pocket of his dress. “The girl is beautiful, the mother simply grand.” “Ah! but the young lady is so good,” answered Jacques, who did not feel quite satisfied with this sudden interest. “Good, very possible—I am no judge; but she is fair as a lily, and bright as a sunbeam. Did my face terrify her, Jacques?” “Your face, Count Mirabeau—how should it? Why, your face is magnificent, grand—it is that I glory in most of anything.” Jacques believed all that he was saying. In his heart great love had glorified that massive head, with its shock of ruddy hair, into something beautiful. He heard the question put to him with genuine surprise, as if some one had disputed the brightness of the sun; but Count Mirabeau understood himself better. He rather gloried in the rude grandeur of his appearance, the conquests which he made in spite of it were doubly grateful to him. “It is a common thing to be beautiful,” he would say; “but to be hideous and beloved in spite of it, is sublime.” “Ah! you are no judge, brother Jacques. Of course, I am everything grand and agreeable to you; but with a young lady, the thing is different. I saw her look of surprise when I came in. No wonder; but she forgot to be afraid after a little. Did you see that? How her eyes kindled! What a smile came to her face—a lovely face, undoubtedly; a very lovely face!” Count Mirabeau fell into a reverie here, and began to thread with his hand the long waves of hair that fell to his shoulder. Jacques remained silent, and sat watching him. After awhile the count arose, and taking one of the gold pieces from the table, dropped it into his pocket. Glancing at the two Louis d’or that were left, he said, with a laugh. “These will be enough for the present—one cannot do entirely without money. Come to me, Jacques, when you want more.” “But the ladies are proud; they will not accept it, knowing where it comes from.” “They must not know where it comes from. You understand?” “Yes, I understand.” “Now I will bid you good-night, Jacques. Do you know that my father is in Paris?” “In Paris! I did not know it. What brings him here?” “He comes to be reconciled with his son, so I am told. I had a letter from him this morning, appointing a time when I am to call on him. It was this which brought me here.” “Then you will go?” “Yes. Why not?” “But he has been so cruel, so harsh. It is not long since the doors of his chateau were closed against you.”