overrules Life Public. How many private lives does such a terrible time
influence, absorb, darken with sorrow, crush into graves?

It was the day when the Duc de Gramont uttered the fatal speech which
determined the die between peace and war. No one not at Paris on that
day can conceive the popular enthusiasm with which that speech was
hailed--the greater because the warlike tone of it was not anticipated;
because there had been a rumour amidst circles the best informed that a
speech of pacific moderation was to be the result of the Imperial
Council. Rapturous indeed were the applauses with which the sentences
that breathed haughty defiance were hailed by the Assembly. The ladies
in the tribune rose with one accord, waving their handkerchiefs. Tall,
stalwart, dark, with Roman features and lofty presence, the Minister of
France seemed to say with Catiline in the fine tragedy: "Lo! where I
stand, I am war!"

Paris had been hungering for some hero of the hour--the Duc de Gramont
became at once raised to that eminence. All the journals, save the very
few which were friendly to peace, because hostile to the Emperor,
resounded with praise, not only of the speech, but of the speaker. It is
with a melancholy sense of amusement that one recalls now to mind those
organs of public opinion--with what romantic fondness they dwelt on the
personal graces of the man who had at last given voice to the chivalry of
France: "The charming gravity of his countenance--the mysterious
expression of his eye!"

As the crowd poured from the Chambers, Victor de Mauleon and Savarin, who
had been among the listeners, encountered.

"No chance for my friends the Orleanists now," said Savarin. "You who