the majority, but not of the minority.  These were so many questions.  But these questions, supposing them answered, and answered in the sense of success, was success itself the question?  The question is never Success, it is always Right.  But here, even if we had obtained success, we should not have Right.  In order to arrest the President an order of the Assembly was necessary; we should replace the order of the Assembly by an act of violence of the Left.  A scaling and a burglary; an assault by scaling-ladders on the constituted authority, a burglary on the Law.  Now let us suppose resistance; we should shed blood.  The Law violated leads to the shedding of blood.  What is all this?  It is a crime.”

“No, indeed,” he exclaimed, “it is the salus populi.”

And he added,—­

“Suprema Lex.”

“Not for me,” I said.

I continued,—­

“I would not kill a child to save a people.”

“Cato did so.”

“Jesus did not do so.”

And I added,—­

“You have on your side all ancient history, you are acting according to the uprightness of the Greeks, and according to the uprightness of the Romans; for me, I am acting according to the uprightness of Humanity.  The new horizon is of wider range than the old.”

There was a pause.  He broke it.

“Then he will be the one to attack!”

“Let it be so.”

“You are about to engage in a battle which is almost lost beforehand.”

“I fear so.”

“And this unequal combat can only end for you, Victor Hugo, in death or exile.”

“I believe it.”

“Death is the affair of a moment, but exile is long.”

“It is a habit to be learned.”

He continued,—­

“You will not only be proscribed.  You will be calumniated.”

“It is a habit already learned.”

He continued,—­

“Do you know what they are saying already?”

“What?”

“They say that you are irritated against him because he has refused to make you a Minister.”

“Why you know yourself that—­”

“I know that it is just the reverse.  It is he who has asked you, and it is you who have refused.”

“Well, then—­”

“They lie.”

“What does it matter?”

He exclaimed,—­

“Thus, you will have caused the Bonapartes to re-enter France, and you will be banished from France by a Bonaparte!"[32]

“Who knows,” said I, “if I have not committed a fault?  This injustice is perhaps a justice.”

We were both silent.  He resumed,—­

“Could you bear exile?”

“I will try.”

“Could you live without Paris?”

“I should have the ocean.”

“You would then go to the seaside?”

“I think so.”

“It is sad.”

“It is grand.”

There was another pause.  He broke it.