tone: "You are not angry with me, are you? It's your departure which
grieves me and awakens such ideas. I know very well you are right--that
I ought to be humble."

Then she began to cry, and Silvere, moved by her tears, grasped her
hands and kissed them.

"See, now, how you pass from anger to tears, like a child," he said
lovingly. "You must be reasonable. I'm not scolding you. I only want to
see you happier, and that depends largely upon yourself."

The remembrance of the drama which Miette had so sadly evoked cast a
temporary gloom over the lovers. They continued their walk with bowed
heads and troubled thoughts.

"Do you think I'm much happier than you?" Silvere at last inquired,
resuming the conversation in spite of himself. "If my grandmother had
not taken care of me and educated me, what would have become of me? With
the exception of my Uncle Antoine, who is an artisan like myself, and
who taught me to love the Republic, all my other relations seem to fear
that I might besmirch them by coming near them."

He was now speaking with animation, and suddenly stopped, detaining
Miette in the middle of the road.

"God is my witness," he continued, "that I do not envy or hate anybody.
But if we triumph, I shall have to tell the truth to those fine
gentlemen. Uncle Antoine knows all about this matter. You'll see when we
return. We shall all live free and happy."