not only a student,
but a man of affairs besides. For most men the affairs would have closed
the books permanently, they were sufficient, full enough of ambition and
prospect, to do so, but Raymond Latour was not as other men. Life was a
long business, not limited by the fiery upheaval which was shaking the
foundations of social order. There was the afterwards, when the
excitement would be burned out, when the loud orators and mad
enthusiasts should find no occupation because none wished to hear them
talk. The sudden tide sweeping them into prominence for a moment would
assuredly destroy many and leave others stranded and useless, but for a
few there was the realization of ambition. Those few must have power to
grapple with their surroundings, brains to hold fast to the high
position upon which the tide wave must fling them. Of these Raymond
Latour would be. The determination was expressed in every feature, in
the steel gray eyes, in the firm set mouth, in the square and powerful
build of the man. Nature had given him inches above his fellows, muscles
which made them courteous to him; and study had given him the power to
use men. His ability was recognized and appreciated, his companions had
thrust him into prominence, at the first somewhat against his will, but
carried on the crest of the wave of popularity one easily becomes
ambitious. He was of the Jacobins Club, almost as constant an attendant
there as Robespierre himself, holding opinions that were not to be
shaken. He was not of those who had thought the Jacobins slow and had
massed themselves, with Danton and the Club of the Cordeliers, nor was
he with the milder Lafayette and the Feuillants Club; he was no blind
follower of any party, yet he was trusted without being thoroughly
understood. It was difficult to decide which held the higher place with
him, his country or his own interests. He could not have answered the
question himself as he leaned back in his chair, a flood of thoughts
rushing through his brain, one thought more prominent than the rest,
destined perchance to absorb all others.

There were footsteps on the stairs without, and a knocking at the door.
The visitor had swaggered up the Rue Valette, conscious that some turned
to look at him as a man to be feared and respected, yet his manner
changed as he passed through the alley, the swagger lessened with each
step he mounted, and when Latour opened the door to him, the visitor was
full of respect, a