ven a creed.

And so into the hearts of such as he there comes creeping a spirit of
revolt. Instead of accepting this topsy-turvy old world and making the
best of it, their eyes are fixed upon an ideal that Heaven alone can
realize.

The home of Lafayette was the rendezvous of the discontented. Art,
literature, politics and religion were all represented in the parlors of
La Grange. Where Franklin had discoursed Poor Richard philosophy, there
now gathered each Sunday night a company in which "the greatest of the
Americans" would have delighted. For this company, no question was too
sacred for frank and free discussion.

It was at the home of Lafayette that Scheffer met Augustin Thierry, and
between these two there grew a friendship that only death was to divide.

But there was one other person Scheffer met at La Grange who was to
exercise a profound influence on his life: this was the Duchess of
Orleans. The quiet manliness of the young artist impressed the future
Queen of France, and he was invited to Neuilly to copy certain portraits.

In the year Eighteen Hundred Twenty-six, we find Scheffer regularly
established in the household of the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, with
commissions to paint portraits of all the members of the family, and
incidentally to give lessons in drawing and mathematics to the Princess
Marie.

The Princess had been a sore trial to her parents, in that she had failed
to fit into the conventional ways of polite society. Once she had shocked
all Neuilly by donning man's attire and riding horseback astride. A
worthy priest who had been her tutor had found her tongue too sharp for
his comfort, and had resigned his post in dismay. The Princess argued
religion with the Bishop and discussed politics with visitors in such a
radical way that her father often turned pale. For the diversions of
society she had a profound contempt that did not fail to manifest itself
in sharp sallies against the smug hypocrisy of the times. She had read
widely, knew history, was familiar with the poets, and had dived into the
classics to a degree equaled by few women in France. So keen was her wit
that, when pompous dignitaries dined at Neuilly, her father and mother
perspired freely, not knowing what was coming next. In her character were
traits that surely did not belie her Louis Quatorze ancestry.

And yet this father and mother had a certain secret pride in the
accomplishments of their daughter. Parents always do.