Julie did not understand, but she trembled anew; this time, however, she was not afraid of disagreeable encounters, but of an indefinable mysterious force which seemed to emanate from Julien. She glanced furtively at him; she fancied that she could see his face glow in the darkness, and that her feeble hand was resting on the arm of a giant.
But Julien was a simple-hearted youth, an artist without ambition in the practical affairs of life on his own account. He did not feel called upon to play a conspicuous part in the revolutionary tempests; he looked forward to no other labor for himself than that of studying the charms of nature all his life. That awe-inspiring power with which he was endowed in Julie's eyes was simply the reflection of the divine power on the mind of the new class. He was one of the hundred thousand among the millions of disappointed and soured men who were about to say on the first opportunity: "The cup is full, the past has had its day." The brief allusion he had just made to this general frame of mind among men of his class—a subject which was in every mouth at that time—seemed to Madame d'Estrelle a most impressive prophecy from the lips of an exceptional man. It was the first time that she had ever heard anyone speak defiantly and contemptuously of what she had always considered invincible. The species of superstitious terror which she felt was blended with fervent trust, with a longing to lean the more heavily on that sturdy arm which, under the impulsion of a noble heart, had fought alone, in her cause, against four swords.
"So you think," she said, still walking rapidly, "that one can shake off the yoke of this unjust world which oppresses men's consciences, and condemns true principles? I would like to agree with you that is likely to happen!"
"You believe it already, since you desire to believe it."
"Possibly; but when will it happen?"
"No one can say when or by what means; what is just and right cannot fail to happen; but what does it matter to you, madame, whether all this lasts fifty or a hundred years longer? Are you not one of those who profit innocently by the misfortunes of others?"
"Oh! I profit by nothing. I have nothing of my own, and I am nobody in society."
"But you are of society, you belong to it, it owes you protection, and it will never wound you in your own person."
"Who knows?" said Julie.
Then, fearing that she had said too much, she changed the subject by recurring to the scene which had just taken place.