"When a lady kisses a man on the lips, of her own free will, and puts her arm around his neck, is it done, do you think, because it's her duty to do it or die?
No, it's because she likes the man; because the man is a good friend to her; because it's money in her pocket.

That's the case with old Swinton.
France kisses him, as it were, because"-- he paused, as though debating what to say--"because France knows he'd rather be under her own revolutionary government than under the monarchy of England." His voice had resonance, and, as he said these words, it had insistence.
"Do you know, Calhoun, I think old Swinton is right.

We suffer here because monarchy, with its cruel hand of iron, mistrusts us, brutalizes us." He did not see enlightenment come into the half-drunken eyes of Dyck.
He only realized that Dyck was very still, and strangely, deeply interested.
"I tell you, Calhoun, we need in Ireland something of the spirit that's alive in France to-day.

They've cleaned out the kings--Louis's and Marie's heads have dropped into the basket.

They're sweeping the dirt out of France; they're cleaning the dark places; they're whitewashing Versailles and sawdusting the Tuileries; they're purging the aristocratic guts of France; they're starting for the world a reformation which will make it clean.