to rendezvous at the garden of the
little chapel of St. Blois, and thitherward I now turned my steps.

The success which followed this my first enterprise in life had already
worked a wondrous change in all my feelings. Instead of looking up to
the poor cure for advice and guidance, I felt as though our parts were
exchanged, and that it was I who was now the protector of the other. The
oft-repeated sneers at _les bons Pretres_, who were good for nothing,
must have had a share in this new estimate of my friend, but a certain
self-reliance just then springing up in my heart effectually completed
the change.

The period was essentially one of action and not of reflection. Events
seemed to fashion themselves at the will of him who had daring and
courage to confront them, and they alone appeared weak and poor-spirited
who would not stem the tide of fortune. Sentiments like these were not,
as may be supposed, best calculated to elevate the worthy pere in my
esteem, and I already began to feel how unsuited was such companionship
for me, whose secret promptings whispered ever, 'Go forward.'

The very vagueness of my hopes served but to extend the horizon of
futurity before me, and I fancied a thousand situations of distinction
that might yet be mine. Fame--or its poor counterfeit, notoriety--seemed
the most enviable of all possessions. It mattered little by what merits
it was won, for, in that fickle mood of popular opinion, great vices
were as highly prized as transcendent abilities, and one might be as
illustrious by crime as by genius. Such were not the teachings of
the pere; but they were the lessons that Paris dinned into my ears
unceasingly. Reputation, character, was of no avail, in a social
condition where all was change and vacillation. What was idolised one
day was execrated the next day. The hero of yesterday was the object
of popular vengeance to-day. The success of the passing hour was
everything.

The streets were crowded as I passed along; although a drizzling rain
was falling, groups and knots of people were gathered together at every
corner, and, by their eager looks and gestures, showed that some event
of great moment had occurred. I stopped to ask what it meant, and
learned that Robespierre had been denounced in the Assembly, and that
his followers were hastening, in arms, to the Place de Greve. As yet,
men spoke in whispers, or broken phrases. Many were seen affectionately
embracing and clasping each ot