thin, a reed; she—­let her be!  Say of her when she plays beast—­she is absent from Alvan!  I can forgive.  The letter’s nothing; it means nothing—­except “Thou fool, Alvan, to let me go.”  Yes, that!  Her people are acting tyrant with her—­as legally they have no right to do in this country, and I shall prove it to them.  When I have gained admission to her—­and I soon shall:  it can’t be refused:  I am off to the head of her father’s office to-morrow, and I have only to represent the state of affairs to the Minister in my language to obtain his authority to demand admission to her:—­then, friend, you will see!  I lift my finger, and you will see!  At my request she went back to her mother.  I have but to beckon.’

He had cooled to the happy assurance of his authority over her, all the giants of his system being well in action, and when that is the case with a big nature it is at rest, or such is the condition of repose granted it in life.

On the morrow he was off to batter at doors which would have expected rather the summons of an armed mob at his heels than the strange cry of the Radical man maltreated by love.

CHAPTER XI

The story of Clotilde’s departure from the city, like that of Alvan’s, communicated to her by her maid, was an anticipation of the truth, disseminated by her parents.  She was removed when the swarm of spies and secret letter-bearers were attaining a position of dignity through the rumour of legal gentlemen about to direct the movements of the besieging army.

A stir seemed to her to prognosticate a rescue and she went not unwillingly.  To be in motion, to see roadside faces, pricked her senses with some hope.  She had gained the peace she needed, and in that state her heart began to be agitated by a fresh awakening, luxurious at first rather than troublesome.  She had sunk so low that the light of Alvan seemed too distant for a positive expectation of him; but few approached her whom she did not fancy under strange disguises:  the gentlemen were servants, the blouses were gentlemen; she looked wistfully at old women bearing baskets, for the forbidden fruit to peep out in the form of an envelope.  All passed her blankly, noticing her eyes.

The journey was short; she was taken to a place a little beyond the head of the lake, and there, though she had liberty to breathe the air, fast fixed within the walls of a daily sameness that became gradually the hum of voices accusing Alvan of one in excess of the many sins laid against him by his enemies.  Was he not possibly an empty pretender to power—­a mere great talker?