Belief or disbelief in the conspiracy was with him, and with many, the
test by which a sanguinary revolutionist was distinguished from an honest
politician.

"Ma foi," answered De Mauleon, shrugging his shoulders, "I have only one
belief left; but that is boundless. I believe in the folly of mankind in
general, and of Frenchmen in particular. That seventy-two men should
plot the assassination of a sovereign on whose life interests so numerous
and so watchful depend, and imagine they could keep a secret which any
drunkard amongst them would blab out, any tatterdemalion would sell, is a
_betise_ so gross that I think it highly probable. But pardon me if I
look upon the politics of Paris much as I do upon its mud--one must pass
through it when one walks in the street. One changes one's shoes before
entering the salon. A word with you, Enguerrand,"--and taking his
kinsman's arm he drew him aside from the circle. "What has become of
your brother? I see nothing of him now."

"Oh, Raoul," answered Enguerrand, throwing himself on a couch in a
recess, and making room for De Mauleon beside him--"Raoul is devoting
himself to the distressed _ouvriers_ who have chosen to withdraw from
work. When he fails to persuade them to return, he forces food and fuel
on their wives and children. My good mother encourages him in this
costly undertaking, and no one but you who believe in the infinity of
human folly would credit me when I tell you that his eloquence has drawn
from me all the _argent de poche_ I get from our shop. As for himself,
he has sold his horses, and even grudges a cab-fare, saying, 'That is a
meal for a family.' Ah! if he had but gone into the Church, what a saint
would have deserved canonisation!"

"Do not lament--he will probably have what is a better claim than mere