key of light, that I might go beyond. Oh! my master, I thank you. You have created me."
Cimourdain sat down on the straw beside Gauvain, and said to him,—
"I have come to take supper with you."
Gauvain broke up the black bread and offered it to him. Cimourdain took a piece of it; then Gauvain passed him the jug of water.
"Drink first," said Cimourdain.
Gauvain drank and passed the jug to Cimourdain, who drank after him. Gauvain only took one swallow.
Cimourdain took a long draught.
At this supper, Gauvain ate and Cimourdain drank, a sign of calmness in one and of feverishness in the other.
A strange, terrible serenity was in this dungeon. The two men talked.
Gauvain said,—
"Great things are being planned. What the Revolution is doing at this moment is mysterious. Behind its visible work there is a work invisible. One conceals the other. The visible work is cruel, the invisible work is sublime. At this moment I can see everything very clearly. It is strangely beautiful. It was necessary to make use of the materials of the past. Hence this extraordinary '93. Under a scaffolding of barbarism, a temple of civilization is building."
"Yes," replied Cimourdain. "Out of things temporal will arise the definitive. The definitive, that is to say right and duty, in parallel lines, proportional and progressive taxes, obligatory military service, levelling without deviation, and above all and through all, that straight line, law. The Republic of the Absolute."
"I prefer," said Gauvain, "the Republic of the Ideal." He hesitated, then continued,—
"Oh, my master, in all that you have just said, where do you place devotion, sacrifice, abnegation, the magnanimous intertwining of benevolence, love? Putting everything in equilibrium is good; making everything harmonious is better. Above the scales is the lyre. Your republic doses, measures, and rules man; mine carries him up into the clear sky; that is the difference between a theorem and an eagle."
"You will be lost in the clouds."
