“I hardly think she would amuse herself with an execution.” “And you blame me for rejoicing when an enemy of France falls. You call upon us women for help, and then despise us that we listen.” “No, no! Only I do not usually betake myself to the scaffold when I have love to bestow. Cannot you see a difference?” “These are dainty distinctions, which a woman of the people is not expected to know. One cannot be a patriot and helpless,” answered Louison, whose hot temper was beginning to kindle fiercely under the keen disappointment that man had brought upon her. “As for me, I give love for love, and hate for hate.” “Ah! but you and I will have nothing to do with either, for both are dangerous. I did not come here to talk of such bitter and frail things; but to announce danger.” “A new one—to you or to me?” “For myself, I have so many enemies, that half a dozen, more or less, is of little consequence—that would not have moved me in the least.” “Then it is for me?” “This was a grand but dangerous day for you, Louison—for it made my enemies yours, and they are counted by hundreds.” “This morning I did not fear them, having you; but now I stand alone.” “Not while Mirabeau lives. This is what I came to say—let us have done with all meaner things. We are fellow patriots, given to one purpose—comrades in a glorious cause. A great future lies before France—you will stand by me while I work it out?” Louison was pale and drooping, all the womanliness in her nature was wounded unto death. He left nothing before her now but a man’s ambition. Well, that was better than nothing. “Nay, I will not stand by and watch your struggles, but help you as I did yesterday,” she answered, proudly. “That was bravely done; but such occasions do not repeat themselves often. The strongest woman that ever lived is but a weak man when she unsexes herself.” Louison turned upon him with a burst of her own fierce rage. “You leave me nothing,” she said. “Yes, liberty!” “But equality is the great war cry here. Is that to be denied because I am a woman?” “Yes,” answered Mirabeau, thoughtfully. “There is no equality between men and women—nature forbids it. They are better and worse than each other. The woman who seeks it loses all the delicacy of her own nature, but never attains a man’s strength. No, Louison, there is no equality.” CHAPTER XCIX. FETE IN THE CHAMP DE MARS. On the fourteenth of July, 1790, the city of Paris resolved to commemorate the taking of the Bastille, and all France was invited to rejoice with those who had laid this mighty fortress in ruins. From a surface of two hundred thousand square miles came thousands on thousands of dusty and tired travelers, moving toward the capital, singly and in delegations, shouting hymns to liberty under the burning rays of a July sun.