"Let us go farther. Did the wealth of the marquis fill your heart only with covetous desire, instead of a sentiment of hatred and revolt against a society where some abound with superfluous possession, while others die for want of the necessaries of life? Very well, my child, that is an excellent sentiment; it is sacred and religious, because it inspired the Fathers of the Church with holy and avenging words. So, at the voice of great revolutions, the divine principle of fraternity, of human equality, has been proclaimed. Yes," added David, with a bitter sadness, "but proclaimed in vain. Priests, denying their humble origin, have become accomplices of wealth and power in the hands of kings, and have said to the people, 'Fate has devoted you to servitude, to misery, and to tears, on this earth.' Was not this a blasphemy against the fatherly goodness of the Creator,—a base desertion of the cause of the disinherited? But in our day this cause has valiant defenders, and blessed are these sentiments that the sight of wealth inspires in you, if it throws you among the people of courage who fight for the imperishable cause of equality and human brotherhood."
"Oh!" cried Frederick, with clasped hands, his face radiant, and his heart throbbing with generous enthusiasm, "I understand, I understand."
"Let us see," pursued David, with increasing animation; "for what else did you envy this young marquis? The antiquity of his name? Envy it, envy it, by all means. You will have what is better than an ancient name; you will make your own name illustrious, and more widely celebrated than that of Pont Brillant. Art, letters, war! how many careers are open to your ambition! And you will win reputation. I have studied your works; I know the extent of your ability, when it is increased tenfold by the might of a determined and noble emulation."
"My God! my God!" cried Frederick, with enthusiasm, his eyes filled with tears, "I cannot tell what change has come over me. The darkness of night has been turned to day,—the day of the past, and even brighter than the past. Oh, my mother! my mother!"
"Let us go on," continued David, unwilling to leave the least doubt in Frederick's mind; "does the envy you feel when you hear the ancient name of Pont Brillant manifest itself by a violent hatred of aristocratic tradition, always springing up, sometimes feudal, and sometimes among the citizenship? Exalt this envy, my child. Jean Jacques, in protesting against the inequality of material conditions, was sublimely envious, and our fathers, in destroying the privileges of the monarchy, were heroically, immortally envious."
"Oh!" exclaimed Frederick, "how my heart beats at your noble words, M. David! What a revelation! What was killing me, I realise now, was a cowardly, barren envy. Envy for me was indolence, despair, death. Envy ought to be action, hope, and life. In my impotent rage I only knew how to curse myself, others, and my own nonentity. Envy ought to give me the desire and strength to come out of my obscurity, and I will come out of it."
"Good! good! dear, brave child!" exclaimed David, in his turn, pressing Frederick to his breast. "Oh, I was certain I could cure you! An easy task with a generous nature like yours, so long cherished by the most admirable of mothers. Tender and excellent heart!" added he, no longer able to restrain his tears. "This morning, as you were about to drown, your last cry was, 'My mother! my mother!' You are born again to hope and life, and your first cry is still, 'My mother! my mother!'"
"I owe you my life," murmured Frederick, responding to the ardent embrace of his preceptor. "I owe you the life of my body as well as the life of my soul, M. David."
"Frederick, my child," said David, with inexpressible emotion, "call me your friend. That name I deserve now, do I not? It will replace the sweet and cherished name I can never hear again,—my brother!"
"Oh, my friend!" cried Frederick, with exaltation, "and you will see me worthy of the name of friend."