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 a gentleman, or even an ordinarily honest man, is what stupefies me. What their admirers can imagine would be the benefit to France in upsetting the Republic in order to place in power a party, upon its own testimony, so scantily furnished with brains or honour, is what I am unable to grasp. And if their women-folk had their way, we should have back the "White Terror," and science and liberal thought would receive an emphatic blow. But happily there is no immediate fear of their triumph. The Duc d'Aumale and the Prince de Joinville took with them to the grave all the prestige that was left the House of France, and not even his followers take the Duke of Orleans seriously.

Political intrigue is, of course, worked in the salon, as Academy elections are helped. The Frenchwoman's influence is too great not to find an opening in every question of the hour. If she has no vote, she inhabits a land where the sorcery of her sex exercises a wider and deeper, a more permanent power than any political rights could ever give her, though, for many reasons, I am inclined to believe that it would be better for her and for her race if the significance of this power were other than it is. In a country where the courtesan plays a triumphant part, where newspapers solemnly recount her doings, describe her toilettes at Longchamps, at Auteuil, and interview her, we can scarcely expect