“I know all this,” she replied contemptuously; “fawning one day, they tear the next.”
“Because aware of resistance to their will, and hatred opposed to their love.”
“Does this destructive element know whether it loves or hates? it destroys like the wind, the sea and fire, and has womanly caprices.”
“Because you see it from on high, like the man in the lighthouse views the ocean. Did you go down in the depths you would see how steady it is. What more obedient than the vast mass to the movement of the tides. You are Queen over the French, madam, and yet you know not what passes in France. Raise your veil instead of keeping it down, and you will admire instead of dreading.”
“What would I see so very splendid?”
“The New World blooming over the wreck of the Old; the cradle of Free France floating on a sea wider than the Mediterranean—than the ocean. O God protect you, little bark—O God shield you, babe of promise, France!”
Little of an enthusiast as Gilbert was he raised his eyes and hands heavenward.
The Queen eyed him with astonishment for she did not understand.
“Fine words,” she sneered. “I thought you philosophers had run them down to dust.”
“No, great deeds have killed them,” returned Gilbert. “Whither tends old France? to the unity of the country. There are no longer provinces, but all French.”