resting to hear your own impressions, which must be
fresher."

Miriam knew that he did not want to speak of France, and wondered why.
But Marvin, eager to talk of his favourite study, seized the suggestion
in all innocence. He had gone to Paris as he had wandered through life,
with the mind of a child, eager, receptive, open to impression. Such
minds pass by much that is of value, but to one or two conclusions they
bring a perceptive comprehension which is photographic in its accuracy.

"I have followed her history with unflagging interest since boyhood,"
he said, "but never until now have I understood France. I walked through
the streets of Paris and I looked into the faces of the people, and I
realised that the astonishing history of France is true. One can see it
in those faces. The city is brilliant, beautiful, unreal. The reality is
in the faces of the people. Do you remember what Wellington said of them
half a century ago? 'They are ripe,' he said, 'for another Napoleon.'
But he could not see that Napoleon on the political horizon. And that
is what I saw in their faces. They are ripe for something--they know not
what."

"Did John Turner tell you that?" asked Loo, in an eager voice. "He who
has lived in Paris all his life?"

And Miriam caught the thrill of excitement in the voice that put this
question. She glanced at Loo. His eyes were bright and his cheeks
colourless. She knew that she was in the presence of some feeling that
she did not understand. It was odd that an old scholar, knowing nothing
but history, could thus stir a listener whose touch had hitherto only
skimmed the surface of life.

"No," answered Marvin, with assurance. "I saw it myself in their faces.
Ah! if another such as Napoleon could only arise--such as he, but
different. Not an adventurer, but a King and the descendant of
Kings--not allied, as Napoleon was, with a hundred other adventurers."

"Yes," said Loo, in a muffled voice, looking away toward the fire.

"A King whose wife should be a Queen," pursued the dreamer.

"Yes," said Loo again, encouragingly.

"They could save France," concluded Marvin, taking off his spectacles
and polishing them with a silk handkerchief. Loo turned and looked at
him, for the action so characteristic of a mere onlooker indicated that
the momentary concentration of a mind so stored with knowledge that
confusion reigned there was passing away.

"From what?" asked Loo. "Save France from what?"

"From i