"Indeed, I'm not!" asserted Jean vehemently. "Well, it doesn't make a sou's difference to _me_!" his new companion declared. "I'm neither a royalist, nor am I a republican, nor, for that matter, even a Frenchman. But I happen to have a ticket for the Jacobins myself to-night, and since you're so interested, and have even graciously condescended to knock me down, I'll take you in with me!" Here was a stroke of luck indeed! Jean was instant in expressing his delight, and the two climbed together the steps down which he had so lately fled in ignominy. The gatekeeper scolded and muttered, but there was nothing to do but let him pass, since a man with a card vouched for him. The boy never forgot that night. He reached home and the Rue de Lille long after midnight, encountering Mère Clouet at the door. She had been very uneasy, and was inclined to be somewhat wrathful at the lateness of the hour. But Jean was too excited to care. "Don't scold, Mère Clouet!" he entreated. "I've gotten into the Jacobin Club at last!" "You young rascal!" she exclaimed incredulously, "are you telling the truth?" "Every bit!" he answered. "Give me a bite to eat, good mother, and I'll tell you all about it." "Always hungry!" she muttered, but nevertheless she gave him a generous slice of bread and jam. Between great mouthfuls, he told the story of his forcible encounter with the thin young man and its sequel,--his admission to the club. "Ah, but it was a wonderful night for me!" he continued. "Such speeches did I hear from Citizen Marat who is its president, and from one, Robespierre, whose voice, they say, has greater weight than any, and also from Citizen Danton, the president of the Cordeliers, who came this evening with many more of his own club! Much of what they said was hard for me to understand, but one thing I learned that it is well to know. "The citizens of the Faubourg St. Antoine are planning a fête for the twentieth of June (that's the day after to-morrow), in which they will form a procession and march to the palace to present a petition to the King. That, of course, is all very well, but let me tell you what I heard whispered about by Santerre, the brewer, who is to lead them. Each _sans-culotte_ is to carry a pike, and he thinks that when the King sees forty thousand pikes assembled about his door that he will become alarmed. Then will be the time to lead a general insurrection and demand that he resign his throne and crown or else _force_ him to it. Is it not outrageous thus to take advantage of him unfairly?" Mère Clouet was alarmed and indignant. "It is indeed!" she declared. "I believe the King means to do the right thing by his people, but the country is becoming mob-ruled. It is only the scum of Paris, of which that Santerre is a good sample, who would sanction such plans! But sadly do I fear that they will do the royal family harm!"