And Miriam caught the thrill of excitement in the voice that put this question. She glanced at Loo. His eyes were bright and his cheeks colourless. She knew that she was in the presence of some feeling that she did not understand. It was odd that an old scholar, knowing nothing but history, could thus stir a listener whose touch had hitherto only skimmed the surface of life.
“No,” answered Marvin, with assurance. “I saw it myself in their faces. Ah! if another such as Napoleon could only arise—such as he, but different. Not an adventurer, but a King and the descendant of Kings—not allied, as Napoleon was, with a hundred other adventurers.”
“Yes,” said Loo, in a muffled voice, looking away toward the fire.
“A King whose wife should be a Queen,” pursued the dreamer.
“Yes,” said Loo again, encouragingly.
“They could save France,” concluded Marvin, taking off his spectacles and polishing them with a silk handkerchief. Loo turned and looked at him, for the action so characteristic of a mere onlooker indicated that the momentary concentration of a mind so stored with knowledge that confusion reigned there was passing away.
“From what?” asked Loo. “Save France from what?”
“From inevitable disaster, my boy,” replied Marvin, gravely. “That is what I saw in those gay streets.”
Loo glanced at him sharply. He had himself seen the same all through those provinces which must take their cue from Paris whether they will or no.
“What a career!” murmured Marvin. “What a mission for a man to have in life—to save France! One does not like to think of the world without a France to lead it in nearly everything, or with a France, a mere ghost of her former self, exploited, depleted by another Bonaparte. And we must look in vain for that man as did the good Duke years ago.”