“Monsieur,” cried Philippe, “not a word more; if I did not defend the monarchy, I defended the queen, that is to say, an innocent woman, and to be respected even if she were not so, for it is a divine law not to attack the weak.”
“The weak! the queen—you call a feeble being her to whom twenty-eight million human beings bow the knee!”
“Monsieur, they calumniate her.”
“How do you know?”
“I believe it.”
“Well, I believe the contrary; we have each the right to think as we please.”
“But you act like an evil genius.”
“Who tells you so?” cried Cagliostro, with sparkling eyes. “How, have you the temerity to assume that you are right, and that I am wrong? You defend royalty; well, I defend the people. You say, render to Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s; and I say, render to God the things that are God’s. Republican of America, I recall you to the love of the people, to the love of equality. You trample on the people to kiss the hands of a queen; I would throw down a queen to elevate a people. I do not disturb you in your adoration; leave me in peace at my work. You say to me, die, for you have offended the object of my worship; and I say to you, who combat mine, live, for I feel myself so strong in my principles, that neither you nor any one else can retard my progress for an instant.”
“Sir, you frighten me,” said Philippe; “you show me the danger in which our monarchy is.”
“Then be prudent, and shun the opening gulf.”