conquering the whole earth for the human family. And then in Guillaume's
big heart, which the idea of want, the unjust sufferings of the lowly and
the poor exasperated, Salvat's tragic adventure had suddenly found place,
fomenting supreme rebellion. For long weeks he had lived on with
trembling hands, with growing anguish clutching at his throat. First had
come that bomb and the explosion which still made him quiver, then the
vile cupidity of the newspapers howling for the poor wretch's head, then
the search for him and the hunt through the Bois de Boulogne, till he
fell into the hands of the police, covered with mud and dying of
starvation. And afterwards there had been the assize court, the judges,
the gendarmes, the witnesses, the whole of France arrayed against one man
and bent on making him pay for the universal crime. And finally, there
had come the guillotine, the monstrous, the filthy beast consummating
irreparable injustice in human justice's name. One sole idea now remained
to Guillaume, that idea of justice which maddened him, leaving naught in
his mind save the thought of the just, avenging flare by which he would
repair the evil and ensure that which was right for all time forward.
Salvat had looked at him, and contagion had done its work; he glowed with
a desire for death, a desire to give his own blood and set the blood of
others flowing, in order that mankind, amidst its fright and horror,
should decree the return of the golden age.

Pierre understood the stubborn blindness of such insanity; and he felt
utterly upset by the fear that he should be unable to overcome it. "You
are mad, brother!" he exclaimed, "they have driven you mad! It is a gust
of violence passing; they were treated in a wrong way and too
relentlessly at the outset, and now that they are avenging one another,
it may be that blood will never cease to flow. . . . But, listen,
brother, throw off that nightmare. You can't be a Salvat who murders or a
Bergaz who steals! Remember the pillage of the Princess's house and