The young revolutionist felt weary and lonely--dear God, how lonely! neither kith nor kin had he, and of late all the interest of his life--saving always that absorbed by Jean Jacques--had lain in watching Suzanne de Bellecour, and in loving her silently and distantly.

Now that little crumb of comfort was to be his no more, he was to go away from Bellecour, away from the sight of her for all time.
And he loved her, loved her, loved her! He tossed his arms to Heaven with a great sigh that was a sob almost, then he passed his hands over his face, and as they came in contact with the swollen ridge that scored it, love faded from his mind, and vindictiveness came to fill its room.
"But for this," he cried aloud.

"I shall take payment--aye, as there is a God!" Then turning, and with "The Discourses" held tightly to his side, he moved slowly away, following the course of the gleaming waters..