"And you wish to remain to discover Geneviève. Well! nothing is more simple, just, or natural. You think she is in prison; nothing more probable. You wish to keep watch over her, and on that account we cannot quit Paris."
Maurice drew a deep sigh; it was evident his thoughts were wandering.
"Do you remember the death of Louis XVI?" said he. "I can see him yet, pale with pride and emotion. I was then one of the chiefs of this crowd, in whose folds I conceal myself to-day. I was greater at the foot of the scaffold than the king upon it had ever been. What a change, Lorin! and when one thinks that nine short months have sufficed to work this change!"
"Nine months of love, Maurice— Love ruined Troy!"
Maurice sighed; his wandering thoughts now took another direction.
"Poor Maison-Rouge," said he; "this is a sad day for him!"
"Alas!" said Lorin, "shall I tell you what appears to me the most melancholy thing about revolutions?"
"Yes," said Maurice.
"It is that one often has for friends those we should prefer as enemies; and for enemies those we would wish—"