“I have seldom, very seldom indeed, beheld Prince Talleyrand give way to any demonstration of feeling, even when cause sufficient may have been found in some particular event going on around him. Perhaps, indeed, I may say that I never saw him betray anything like emotion, excepting on the occasion of this reminiscence of Mirabeau. But he had taught himself from his youth up to subdue speedily all outward display of his inward feeling, and he resumed, in his own subdued manner: “‘It will surprise you when I tell you that scarcely a day passes, even now, that I do not call to mind that scene: in fact, it is often forced upon me by the occurrences which are continually taking place before my eyes. It was a cunning device of the ancient seers to affirm that the gift of prophecy might sometimes fall on men about to die. It is not thus; but the words of those we loved are garnered up, when they who perhaps had spoken them many times before unheeded, can speak them no more, and we remember them as something new, although ’tis likely we may have heard them oft and oft before. “‘Mirabeau had doubtless many times, as upon this occasion, held forth to me his fears and doubts, his hopes and his despair, but I remember it not. I can find place in memory for but this one interview, and I have treasured up each word and phrase with a jealous vigilance, as though they had been uttered during the brief visit of a spirit. I had never been thoroughly inspired with the conviction of the Herculean powers of the man until this conversation. He seemed to toy with difficulties; nothing was beyond his grasp; nothing beyond the power of his will to bend. There is scarcely a single _prévision_ of his which time has not realized, and often am I startled even now at events, which, seemingly the consequence of yesterday, had been foretold by him that evening, beside the fountain in the Palais Royal. He gave me many kind admonitions and warnings against some who were in our intimacy, and whom he deemed unworthy of friendship. He counselled me respecting the path that I should take in case this _quelque chose de fâcheux_, which seemed to haunt him so strangely, should take place, while affairs were in such a troubled state. In every case did I follow this advice, and in every case had I cause to rejoice that I had done so. Mirabeau was certainly inspired on that evening—he was sublime. I remember being struck with a saying of his, which I have since found of the greatest value. After having traced out for me a plan of conduct, in case public events should take the turn which he was anticipating, he concluded by saying, solemnly, “But, above all things, my friend, slight not public opinion. Listen with open ears to the public clamour—for remember that the voice of the people is the VOICE OF GOD!”