The struggle, really
great in itself, shrank to mean proportions as she observed these
provincial noblemen, all, with one or two vigorous exceptions, devoid
of significance and virility. Having made to herself a poem of such
heroes, Marie suddenly awakened to the truth. Their faces expressed to
her eyes more a love of scheming than a love of glory; self-interest
had evidently put arms into their hands. Still, it must be said that
these men did become heroic when brought into action. The loss of her
illusions made Mademoiselle de Verneuil unjust, and prevented her from
recognizing the real devotion which rendered several of these men
remarkable. It is true that most of those now present were
commonplace. A few original and marked faces appeared among them, but
even these were belittled by the artificiality and the etiquette of
aristocracy. If Marie generously granted intellect and perception to
the latter, she also discerned in them a total absence of the
simplicity, the grandeur, to which she had been accustomed among the
triumphant men of the Republic. This nocturnal assemblage in the old
ruined castle made her smile; the scene seemed symbolic of the
monarchy. But the thought came to her with delight that the marquis at
least played a noble part among these men, whose only remaining merit
in her eyes was devotion to a lost cause.
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