“Yes. I am not likely to forget that; but in these times it is not policy to be resentful. My father has influence with the king.” “But I thought you were the enemy of Louis the Sixteenth, and of all his family!” “You forget the Duc d’Orleans.” “But he is not your friend.” “He is the friend of no man but himself. Still one does not quarrel with him. A bad, weak friend, Jacques; but sometimes such characters carry braver men into power. While he is popular with the people, who will not readily release their hold on royalty of some kind, I, for one, shall not abandon him.” “Still, it is a terrible thing to know that he is plotting against his own brother, his anointed king,” said Jacques. “Nay, it is rather against the Austrian woman, who rules that brother. Surely, Frenchmen owe little allegiance to her.” “That is, perhaps, because they do not know her!” said Jacques. “That is true. She makes sure that those men who love France, and seek after liberty, never shall come near enough to know her.” “Yet it is said that those who have opportunities of seeing the royal family love her most. To them she is a beautiful, good woman.” “Yes, she is beautiful. She has, sometimes, allowed your humble servant to see her across the theatre; but disdains to receive him at court. Her mother would have known better. She had some idea of statesmanship, and understood how to employ talent, though it might exist a little outside of court circles. She would never have left a Mirabeau to be converted into an enemy.” “Ah! if the queen only knew you as Jacques does—but how can she? The courtiers who surround her are jealous of powers they cannot rival. The queen will never be permitted to know how brave a friend is kept from her.” “She will learn, rest content, Jacques. She will learn who Mirabeau is, and what he can do, before she sits firmly on the throne of France. She will learn, to her cost, that nobility does not always convey talent; and that the best adviser a monarch can have is the man who is most popular with the people.” “That you are, my count. I do not see you pass the streets of Paris without acclamations!” “Yes, they love me, and I love them. It was my great fault with that grand old aristocrat, my father, that plebeians would love me, and that I sometimes stooped to their companionship. Even then I felt what was coming, and, knew where the best elements of power lay. But my thickheaded old ancestor was never able to understand it. What do you think he would say now if he knew where I have spent this evening? Yet a lovelier creature, or more dainty, does not live in any court, than the girl we left yonder.” Monsieur Jacques colored crimson, and moved uneasily in his chair. He did not like this open admiration in his foster-brother. “Yes, the young lady is pretty and gentle as a bird; but I doubt if——” Here Jacques paused, and colored still more violently than before. “Doubt if what——”