Louison cast one brilliant glance at Mirabeau, allowed a glow of triumphant mischief to flash over her face, and, quick as lightning, veiled her eyes again. Robespierre saw the glance, and a hiss of rage came through his shut teeth. Louison caught his venomous eyes, and shuddered. CHAPTER XCVIII. A THANKLESS LOVER AND HOSTS OF ENEMIES. Once more Mirabeau was triumphant. The malice of his enemies had lifted him still higher in the estimation of the people who gloried more than ever in their idol. Louison shared in the popular favor. The fair maid of Liege had never been an object of more admiring attention. She gloried in the act which proved her devotion to Mirabeau, but had made her bitter enemies, whom she believed herself strong enough to scorn. She managed to draw near Mirabeau, who greeted her with a glowing smile. “Have I done well?” she asked, turning her head. “More than well,” he answered. “Count on something better than gratitude.” “There is but one thing better in the world,” she returned, in a low voice; “give me that and I am content.” Before Mirabeau could answer, Marat stood at Louison’s elbow. “Citoyenne,” he said, with loud coarseness, “you have at least had courage; but it needs a charmed life to play with vipers. Is yours thus protected?” Louison laughed in the man’s face. Was not Mirabeau more powerful than ever. Had not she made him so? “I understand,” said Marat, nodding his rough head; “but one life does not hold all France. Mad love has made you blind. Citoyenne, for one false man you have cut down an army of friends. Wait, and see.” Louison turned upon this uncouth man, who seemed to have come fresh from a stable, with disdain in her eyes. Just then renewed shouts went up for Mirabeau. “Hear that, citoyen, and tell me if there is one among you the people love so. When there is, let that man threaten me. Bah! How mean and small you are beside him!” Marat turned his coarse, evil face upon her. There was something more than a threat in that look; but Louison was too haughty in her triumph even to regard it. She saw Mirabeau walking toward his seat, firm, erect, and carrying himself like a monarch. Her eyes followed him eagerly, and her heart swelled as his enemies shrunk away into their places, beaten down by the storm of popular rejoicing that they had failed in bringing anything but baseless charges against the supreme idol of the hour. These men hated Mirabeau with bitter jealousy and unconquerable distrust; but this feeling was nothing to the burning rage and venomous repulsion with which Louison had inspired them. She had dared to lead them into a grave error, cover them with the ridicule of defeat, and scoff at their indignation. But a day of reckoning was sure to come.