sort--_genre Victor Hugo_; but nothing definite against life and
property, nothing that may not be considered hereafter as the harmless
extravagance of a poetic enthusiasm. You might write such articles
yourself. In fine, I want to excite the multitude, and yet not to commit
our journal to the contempt of the few. Nothing is to be admitted that
may bring the law upon us except it be signed by my name. There may be a
moment in which it would be desirable for somebody to be sent to prison:
in that case, I allow no substitute--I go myself.

"Now you have my most secret thoughts. I intrust them to your judgment
with entire confidence. Monsieur Lebeau gave you a high character, which
you have hitherto deserved. By the way, have you seen anything lately of
that bourgeois conspirator?"

"No, his professed business of letter-writer or agent is transferred to a
clerk, who says M. Lebeau is abroad."

"Ah! I don't think that is true. I fancy I saw him the other evening
gilding along the lanes of Belleville. He is too confirmed a conspirator
to be long out of Paris; no place like Paris for seething brains."

"Have you known M. Lebeau long?" asked Rameau. "Ay, many years. We are
both Norman by birth, as you may perceive by something broad in our
accent."

"Ha! I knew your voice was familiar to me; certainly it does remind me of
Lebeau's."

"Normans are like each other in many things besides voice and accent--
obstinacy, for instance, in clinging to ideas once formed; this makes