‘Look yonder,’ whispered De Noe, ‘at the tall, dark man, like a Spaniard, with his long hair combed back and falling on his neck. That is Lanthenas, l’ami de la maison; he lives here. Were she any one else, people would call him her lover; but “La Manon,” as they style her, has no heart to bestow on such emotion; she is with her whole soul in politics, and only cares for humanity when counted by millions.’
‘Who is the pert-looking, conceited fellow he is talking to?’ asked Gerald.
‘That is Louvet, the great literary hero of the day. Seven editions of an indecent novel, sold in as many weeks, have made him rich as well as famous; and the author of Faublas is now courted and sought after on all sides.’
As the crowd thickened, De Noe could but just tell the names of the more remarkable characters without time for more. There was Pelleport, a marquis by birth, but now a spy, and libelist of the lowest class, side by side with Condorcet, the optimist philosopher, and Brissot, the wildest enunciator of republicanism. Carsu, with a dozen penal sentences over his head, was talking familiarly with old Monsieur Roland himself, a simple-hearted old egotist, vain, harmless, and conceited. Yonder, entertaining a group of ladies by the last scandals of the day, told as none but himself could tell them, was Gaudet, a young lawyer from Lyons, his dress the exaggeration of all that constituted the republican mode; while looking on, and with air at once rebuking and amused, stood Dumont, his staid features and simple attire the modest contrast to the other’s finery.
‘A young friend of mine, just come from Italy, Madame, said De Noe, suddenly perceiving Madame Roland’s eyes fixed on Fitzgerald.
‘And “of us”?’ said she significantly.
‘Assuredly, Madame, or I had not dared to present him,’ said De Noe, bowing.
‘You must not say so, sir. Do you know,’ said she, addressing Gerald, ‘that it was only last week he brought a bishop here, Monseigneur de Blois.’
‘Ah! but be just, Madame; he had been degraded for immorality,’ broke in De Noe, laughing.
‘You should have shared his penalty, Monsieur De Noe,’ said she, half coldly, and moved on.