He carried off Madame de Monier from her aged husband.

The lovers, happy for some months, took refuge in Holland; they were seized there, separated and shut up, the one in a convent and the other in the dungeon of Vincennes.
Love, which, like fire in the veins of the earth, is always detected in some crevice of man's destiny, lighted up in a single and ardent blaze all Mirabeau's passions.

In his vengeance it was outraged love that he appeased; in liberty, it was love which he sought and which delivered him; in study, it was love which still illustrated his path.

Entering obscure into his cell, he quitted it a writer, orator, statesman, but perverted--ripe for any thing, even to sell himself, in order to buy fortune and celebrity.

The drama of life was conceived in his head, he wanted but the stage, and that time was preparing for him.