analogies with that of Mirabeau. It was stamped with the seal of
fierce, swift, and terrible eloquence. But the Doctor bore on his brow
the expression of religious faith that his modern double had not. His
voice, too, was of persuasive sweetness, with a clear and pleasing
ring in it.

At this moment the daylight, that was stintingly diffused through the
small, heavily-leaded window-panes, tinted the assembly with
capricious tones and powerful contrasts from the chequered light and
shade. Here, in a dark corner, eyes shone brightly, their dark heads
under the sunbeams gleamed light above faces in shadow, and various
bald heads, with only a circlet of white hair, were distinguished
among the crowd like battlements silvered by moonlight. Every face was
turned towards the Doctor, mute but impatient. The drowsy voices of
other lecturers in the adjoining schools were audible in the silent
street like the murmuring of the sea; and the steps of the two
strangers, as they now came in, attracted general attention. Doctor
Sigier, ready to begin, saw the stately senior standing, looked round
for a seat for him, and then finding none, as the place was full, came
down from his place, went to the newcomer, and with great respect, led
him to the platform of his professor's chair, and there gave him his
stool to sit upon. The assembly hailed this mark of deference with a
murmur of approval, recognizing the old man as the orator of a fine
thesis admirably argued not long since at the Sorbonne.

The stranger looked down from his raised position on the crowd below
with that deep glance that held a whole poem of sorrow, and those who
met his eye felt an indescribable thrill. The lad, following the old
man, sat down on one of the steps, leaning against the pulpit in a
graceful and melancholy attitude. The silence was now profound, and