He spoke of him without the slightest respect, and this to me unimaginable audacity seemed a thing so prodigious that by itself it was enough to obliterate all distinctions of rank. By it he at once placed himself above all other men, of whom he could make light with impunity. I promised myself to be disrespectful, too, to show my spirit. Grandfather proceeded to enlighten me with certain particulars concerning the displeasure of his “papa.” “Yes, indeed! he insisted that a king is as necessary to a nation as a gardener to a garden. And all the bad paintings in the drawing-room thought the same.” What! all the family! Grandfather was deliberately taking his stand apart from all the ancestors! He proposed to flock by himself, to walk alone, far from the road, as in our walks. What’s the use of being a grown-up person if one must still consider others, may not do as he chooses, must heed counsels and remonstrances? He had done mighty well to carry a gun, seeing it was for liberty. His impertinent little laugh seemed to break with paternal opinion and invoke nature: “It’s absurd! As if it was necessary to trim trees and cut plants into shape! See how they grow without any help, and if these don’t knock out all the gardens in the world!” We had reached a grove of beeches, aspens and other trees. The tender little spring leaves were not large enough yet to hide the ramifications of the branches. Before my convalescence I should have disagreed with grandfather. The transformation of our garden since our father took the reins of government, the arrangement of the grass-plots, the form of the groves, the harmonious order of the whole, had given me great satisfaction. But our wanderings in the country had by degrees opened my eyes to the beauty of wilder things. A clump of ferns and reeds, a tangle of vines and bushes, rocks crowned with ruddy bracken, and hidden nooks had won my preference, so that I unhesitatingly accepted his view. But I was in a measure stunned by the discovery that one might be of a different mind from one’s parents and even sit in judgment upon them, like this, in all quietness of mind. Grandfather had not been afraid to condemn his father in my presence. It was the most effective lesson in independence that I had yet received, and this discovery, far from gratifying me, inspired me with fear, and aroused again the feeling of sacrilege which I had felt with respect to the dead man. Irreverence was not liberty. One might scorn and at the same time obey, still, one really had a right to be free, not to accept his father’s ideas, not obey his orders. I dared not give form to the thoughts which were assailing me and therefore returned to politics. “Then,” I asked, “there won’t be kings any more?” “As fast as people become civilised, kings will disappear.” “How about the Count de Chambord?” “Oh, as for him, he may as well cut up his white flag into a nightshirt.”