CHAPTER XXXVIII.

MIRABEAU AND HIS FOSTER BROTHER IN COUNCIL.

“Monsieur Jacques!”

Jacques started up and went to the door, which had been slightly opened. It was the voice of Mirabeau.

“Come out, I would speak with you in your own room,” said the count, abruptly. “It seems to me you are never at home now.”

“But you know where to find me,” said Jacques, good-humoredly.

“Yes, always with these women. I think the girl has bewitched you, my friend.”

Jacques made no answer, but his face flushed crimson as he unlocked the door of his own room, and stood back for Mirabeau to enter.

“Well, what news have you that will give me pleasure!” demanded the count, the moment they were alone.

“Nothing, my count; but I fear much that will anger you.”

“From that woman? Well, speak out. It will only be another rejection of the power that could save her.”

Mirabeau refused a seat, and kept walking up and down the chamber like a wild beast in its cage. While Jacques hesitated how to tell his story best, he turned fiercely upon him.

“Well, my friend, has the Austrian struck you dumb?”

“No, count; but I can scarcely relate my interview with a hope that you will understand it as I did. The words were discouraging enough; there was something in the king’s manner that convinced me of his wish to accept your help.”

“No doubt. He has some little discernment; but the woman is guided entirely by her prejudices. Tell me what she said.”

Jacques did tell him word for word; but he said nothing of the look of scornful pride that made each syllable so bitter. Mirabeau paused in his walk and listened.

“And this is all?” he said, when Jacques paused. “Why, man, this is better news than I expected—the woman leaves a loop-hole for the future; the stubborn pride would not all come down at once, but it is yielding. We must not speak discouragingly to my father, or all his generous plans may freeze up again. He has set his proud old heart on making me the saviour of the monarchy—and so it may be, Jacques; so it shall be.”

“But the people—who shall save them?” questioned Jacques, a little sternly; for with all his fond admiration of the man, he could not blind himself to the sublime egotism of this speech, or the utter selfishness which inspired it.

Mirabeau turned suddenly; the grand ugliness of his face was illuminated by a smile.

“Will you never understand, my friend? When Mirabeau has saved the monarchy, he will, in fact, be king. This haughty queen once at his feet the creature of his power, subdued by his genius, as many a woman, proud and self-sufficient as she is, have been, who shall dare oppose any reform he may decide upon for the consolidation of his power, or the benefit of the people? Mirabeau is already made sovereign, by his own will, of the great revolutionary movement, which has terrified the Austrian into something like civility. A few months later and she shall implore the aid she now dares to reject. This will make his father the happiest man on earth, and give this irresolute, good-hearted king the quiet he so much craves.”

“But the people—the clubs—the women of Paris? Remember how they worshiped Necker, yet he failed to satisfy them.”

“Necker!” exclaimed Mirabeau, with infinite scorn in his voice. “A man of money, a financier, whom the insane populace expected to bring corn out of the parched earth by magic. Failing in this, he had no resources within himself by which to win the discontented back again; but it is different with Mirabeau. His voice is persuasive, his will potent, his power over multitudes is supreme; with his foot upon the throne, he will reach forth his hand to the people, and sustain their rights. You, my friend and foster-brother, shall be a connecting-link between Mirabeau and his old followers. Thus he will control the court, the assembly, and the populace.”

“That would be a glorious combination, if it could be carried out,” said Jacques.

“If,” repeated the count; “can you doubt it? Think what the pen and eloquence of one man has accomplished already. Ah, Jacques! this idea of reaching the people through newspapers and pamphlets, was an inspiration of liberty. This is a power which we have learned how to wield with force, and which can be used in behalf of the throne as well as for the people.”

“But not against the people, at least with my poor help,” said Jacques.

Mirabeau turned upon him angrily.

“Will you never understand that it is by the power of the people alone the monarchy can be sustained?” he said, in his rough, dogmatical way. “There is but one man living who can bring these great elements in harmony; because it requires the union of two extremes in the same man; a nobleman who carries in his own person the traditions of the past, but whose life and sympathies have been with the people. A man God-gifted with eloquence both of speech and with the pen; in short, a being who concentrates in one existence two distinct and opposing characters. Does France contain more than one man of whom you could say this, my friend?”

“No; France has but one Mirabeau.”

“Then have no fear, for on all sides our prospects are brightening. This coalition once made, our good father opens his money-bags, then all this harassing anxiety about finance will be at an end. You did me good service with the old gentleman, my brother, though he did wince now and then, as the conviction was forced upon him that we were in fact, as well as in sentiment, equals before the people, in defiance of the blue blood of his ancestors. It was amusing to see how the old man’s prejudices rose against this simple fact. He did not comprehend that the people glory in having persons of the old pure descent advocating their cause; why that old buffoon, the Duc de Orleans, has seized upon the idea, and even now is using it against the king. If this old renegade only had brains, he might prove a dangerous man. As it is, he is sure to make some stupid blunder, from which even that clever woman, De Genlis, cannot save him; so the best wisdom is to leave him to work out his own ruin. This prince has ambition, and nothing else. Now tell me all that passed at Versailles.”

Mirabeau had by this time exhausted his excitement, and sat down to listen. Monsieur Jacques informed him, in a few brief words, of all that had passed during his absence. When he had finished, the count arose and took his hat from the table.

“Let us go and pay our respects to Madame Gosner,” he said. “It will be pleasant to congratulate her.”

Monsieur Jacques arose reluctantly, and the two men went out together.