ely a hero. A
man accomplishes it at once, he becomes illustrious, he enters into
history, all that is very easy. He leaves to others behind him the
laborious work of a long protest, the immovable resistance of the exile,
the bitter, hard life of the conquered who continues to combat the
victory. Some degree of patience forms a part of politics. To know how
to await revenge is sometimes more difficult than to hurry on its
catastrophe. There are two kinds of courage--bravery and perseverance;
the first belongs to the soldier, the second belongs to the citizen. A
hap-hazard end, however dauntless, does not suffice. To extricate oneself
from the difficulty by death, it is only too easily done: what is
required, what is the reverse of easy, is to extricate one's country from
the difficulty. No, said those high-minded men, who opposed Charamaule
and myself, this to-day which you propose to us is the suppression of
to-morrow; take care, there is a certain amount of desertion in
suicide....

The word "desertion" grievously wounded Charamaule. "Very well," said he,
"I abandon the idea."

This scene was exceedingly grand, and Quinet later on, when in exile,
spoke to me of it with deep emotion.

We separated. We did not meet again.

I wandered about the streets. Where should I sleep? That was the question.
I thought that No. 19, Rue Richelieu would probably be as much watched as
No. 15. But the night was cold, and I decided at all hazards to re-enter
this refuge, although perhaps a hazardous one. I was right to trust myself
to it. I supped on a morsel of bread, and I passed a very good night. The
next morning at daybreak on waking I thought of the duties which awaited
me. I thought that I was abut to go out, and that I should probably not
come back to the room; I took a little bread which remained, and I
crumbled it on the window-sill for the birds.

CHAPTER X.

DUTY CAN HAVE TWO ASPECTS

Had it been in the power of the Left at any moment to prevent the _coup
d'etat_?

We do not think so.

Nevertheless here is a fact which we believe we ought not to pass by in
silence. On the 16th November, 1851, I was in my study at home at 37, Rue
de la Tour d'Auvergne; it was about midnight. I was working. My servant
opened the door.

"Will you see M. ----, sir?"

And he mentioned a name.

"Yes," I said.

Some one came in.

I shall only speak reservedly of this eminent and distinguished man. Let
it suffice to state