"Read him?" cried Carom forgetting for the moment the sore condition
of his body in the delight of discovering one who was bound to him
by such bonds of sympathy as old Rousseau established.

"Read him, Monsieur? There is scarce a line in all his 'Discourses'
that I do not know by heart, and that I do not treasure, vaguely
hoping and praying that some day such a state as he dreamt of may
find itself established, and may sweep aside these corrupt,
tyrannical conditions."

Maximilien's eyes kindled.

"Boy," he answered impressively, "Your hopes are on the eve of
fruition, your prayers are about to be heard. Yes - even though it
should entail trampling the Lilies of France into the very dust.

"Who are you, Monsieur?" asked La Boulaye, eyeing this prophet with
growing interest.

"Robespierre is my name," was the answer, and to La Boulaye it
conveyed no enlightenment, for the name of Maximilien Marie Isidore
de Robespierre, which within so very short a time was to mean so
much in France, as yet meant nothing.

La Boulaye inclined his head as if acknowledging an introduction,
then turned his attention to Duhamel who was offering him a cup of
wine. He drank gratefully, and the invigorating effects were almost
instantaneous.

"Now let us see to your hurts," said the schoolmaster, who had taken