ed his back on public life. His fickle friends soon
deserted him. His enemies jeered and hooted the mention of his name.

He had reached the time which with a sort of prophetic instinct he had
foreseen nearly ten years before. So he turned to the woman who had
been faithful and loving to him; and he turned to her with a feeling of
infinite peace.

"You promised me," he said, "that if ever I was defeated and alone you
would marry me. The time is now."

Then this man, who had exercised the powers of a dictator, who had
levied armies and shaken governments, and through whose hands there had
passed thousands of millions of francs, sought for a country home. He
found for sale a small estate which had once belonged to Balzac, and
which is known as Les Jardies. It was in wretched repair; yet the small
sum which it cost Gambetta--twelve thousand francs--was practically all
that he possessed. Worn and weary as he was, it seemed to him a haven
of delightful peace; for here he might live in the quiet country with
the still beautiful woman who was soon to become his wife.

It is not known what form of marriage they at last agreed upon. She may
have consented to a civil ceremony; or he, being now out of public
life, may have felt that he could be married by the Church. The day for
their wedding had been set, and Gambetta was already at Les Jardies.
But there came a rumor that he had been shot. Still further tidings
bore the news that he was dying. Paris, fond as it was of scandals,
immediately spread the tale that he had been shot by a jealous woman.

The truth is quite the contrary. Gambetta, in arranging his effects in
his new home, took it upon himself to clean a pair of dueling-pistols;
for every French politician of importance must fight duels, and
Gambetta had already done so. Unfortunately, one cartridge remained
unnoticed in the pistol which Gambetta cleaned. As he held the
pistol-barrel against the soft part of his hand the cartridge exploded,
and the ball passed through the base of the thumb with a rending,
spluttering noise.

The wound was not in itself serious, but now the prophecy of Bismarck
was fulfilled. Gambetta had exhausted his vitality; a fever set in, and
before long he died of internal ulceration.

This was the end of a great career and of a great romance of love.
Leonie Leon was half distraught at the death of the lover who was so
soon to be her husband. She wandered for hours in the forest until she
r