“What good can you expect to win out of this heroism; for, pass it over slightingly as you may, it was still a brave act? In what will it affect the count?” asked the elder noble. “I hope that it will bring him face to face with their majesties.” Mirabeau’s eyes sparkled. He started up and began to pace the floor, as he had done on his first entrance to the room. This was his habit when any new idea struck him. After a time, he slackened the heavy pace at which he had been walking, and moved slowly, and more slowly across the room as the thoughts which had sprung, hot and fast, into his mind cooled down to a deliberate purpose. This woman had scorned him, repulsed his aid, laughed at his supreme ugliness; but this was in the days of her triumph, in the first bloom of her beauty, when all men worshiped her. Now clouds were gathering around the throne upon which she sat; her footsteps were beset by enemies; her actions were misrepresented; her words distorted. The man she had so scornfully repudiated might hope for a different reception now. But he would not seek a rebuff; the queen must be won to send for him and offer the interview once so scornfully refused. If Jacques managed his one opportunity adroitly, she might be won to this measure. He turned to Jacques with a frank smile that transfigured his face into something almost beautiful. “Yes, my brother, you shall do this, and both my father and myself will thank you; for his sake I will consent to make concessions. Mirabeau is a stronger and more powerful person than he was when no higher aims were known at court than a masked ball, or a state drawing-room. He might not have figured to the content of a handsome queen in such pastimes; but where sterner matters are to be handled, she will be mad to turn her back upon the help he can offer. Go, my brother, and for reward, know that half France will bless you.” “And I have leave to use your name as I may think best to the king or queen?” said Jacques, turning his radiant face first to the count, then to the elder noble. “Always remembering that it is the influence of an old and noble family that you offer,” said the old man, with a courtly bend of the head. “And of one who controls multitudes when he but opens his lips,” added Mirabeau, with haughty triumph. “I will remember,” answered Jacques; “the honor of the house and of the man shall suffer nothing in my handling.” The singular man turned as he spoke, made a low, sweeping bow, and left the room. The father and son looked at each other in silence, until the sound of Jacques’ footsteps was lost in the noise of the street; then the count said, with more respect than he usually exhibited to any one, “I trust that you are satisfied, my father.”