‘Tell me, father,’ said Claire, ‘now that Allen’s education is complete, the other part of your great conspiracy — that is, if I may be told.’

     ‘You shall be told, my daughter.’ Her father assumed his most important manner. ‘When I informed you, my child, that Allen should be a poet, I meant more than what you understood. For such a poet as I designed there is a broader future open, a more glorious ambition.’

     ‘Can there be a more noble ambition than to become a poet?’

     ‘The greatest thing of all, my daughter, is to lead the world. There are no longer any kings; but there are dictators. It is the same thing, but with changed name. Every man who aspires to lead mankind must be ready to assume the purple, if he succeed.’

     Claire began to comprehend; but she interrupted not.

     ‘I myself,’ her father went on, ‘have made my humble attempt. But for the destruction of my poems I might now be — Gambetta. I failed. Yet to have endeavoured makes all the life illustrious.’ He paused, thinking of the barricades and of himself a lad of twenty-one, brandishing a gun and shouting for the Republic, which was going to do so much for the world and has done so little. ‘It was necessary,’ he went on, ‘that Allen should be a poet first, as I was. The rest will follow. He knows the people; he knows all that I can teach him. When the moment arrives he will cease to be a poet, and will become a prophet. He will spring to his feet and speak. He will be the leader, dictator, rex, imperator, servus servorum — all that there is of most magnificent.’

     Claire shook her head and smiled.

     ‘Hitherto,’ her father continued, ‘in speaking of leaders we have meant generals and politicians. I suppose there must continue to be generals and politicians. But the people will no longer be led by them. I have made up my mind that the people are concerned with one thing only.’

     ‘What is that thing?’ asked Claire.

     ‘Happiness, my daughter. The leader of the future, the next dictator, will be the man who will teach the world how to be happy. Politics, forms of government, are nothing. That form of government, that ministry which interferes with the people’s happiness must be abolished. Let it vanish!’ He swept the air with a wide and comprehensive gesture, at which kings might have trembled. ‘Everywhere,’ he went on, ‘men want to be happy. They cannot. Why? They do not know how. None of their leaders can teach them. A man must be a poet before he can find out for them.’

     Claire nodded and smiled again.

     ‘Allen shall be such a leader as the world has never seen. There have been many leaders, but they have failed; partly because they were themselves led by selfish motives; partly because they knew not whither they would lead the people; partly because they thought that a government can do for the people what they must do for themselves. They look, poor fools, to the Government, and the Government looks to them. “Give us.” they say, “what we want.” “Tell us.” the Government replies, “what you do want.” Alas! they’do not know. And as the leader, so the people. They are ignorant, they are deaf, they are dumb, they cannot think, they suffer, and know not why. They are waiting for the man who will tell them what they want. And, my dear, directly the people find out that, you may be sure that they will have it, whether the Government wish it, or whether they do not.’

     ‘It seems a great dream.’ said Claire. But still as she spoke and as she listened a strange and subtle smile lingered upon her face.

     ‘It is a great dream; it is more than a dream; it is prophecy. Allen is already a poet, and shall shortly be a prophet.’

     A vision arose before the girl’s mind of a great tall figure clothed in a single robe, with long lean limbs, and one finger pointing upwards. In the right hand was a stick. It was the figure of Elijah as represented in some book of her infancy. She tried to see the features of Allen in this garb, but she failed.

     ‘He must have courage; he must have great courage; he must not be afraid of rough crowds, of hard words; he must fight, if need be. Yet, ce n’est que le premier pas, his friends will push him on. As yet, he waits for inspiration. The moment will come, doubt it not. All will go well, Claire; all will go well with my disciple.’

     As he spoke the rapture of his great Thought seized him again; but this time he spoke slowly, and with eyes which saw, looking out into the night, a vision.

     ‘I behold,’ he said, ‘one who comes. He is greater than Voltaire; he is greater than Shakespeare; he is the greatest of all who have taught or led the people. He teaches them how to make life happy. No one has taught mankind that lesson yet. Allen will do it. They shall require of the Government nothing but order and justice: they will rule for themselves their wages and their work and their holidays. They will find happiness for themselves. There shall be no more hunger, no more misery, no more cruelty; there shall be enough happiness for all. To the new Humanity there shall be no talk of Government. The real leader shall be he who can make them happy. Once more, my daughter, this idea of France, the Mother of all ideas, shall be proclaimed. But in this great Revolution before us we shall learn by old and sad experience. There shall be no bloodshed, because all men will work with us when they understand that we are at last fulfilling the destiny of man, which is to be happy; else why were we born?

     ‘As for poets,’ he went on, ‘they are nothing. They are as plentiful as blackberries. Do you think I would have taken all this trouble to produce a poet? No, it was a nobler thought. I would produce a leader.’

     ‘Do you think, mon père,’ said Claire, with another subtle smile, ‘that Allen will become — what you hope?’

     ‘I think he will,’ replied her father. ‘I have watched him with sympathy. He is gentle, he is ready, he is full of generous sentiments — enfin, he is a poet who has been taughtby me.’

     ‘And you believe that he will rise and lead the people?’

     Hector had the faith in woman’s wit which all Frenchmen entertain. He looked anxiously at his daughter.

     ‘Tell me, Claire,’ he said, ‘what you mean.’

     ‘I mean, papa,’ she replied, ‘that there are two boys, and that you have only thought of one. There is a strong boy, and there is a weak boy. If one is to be a leader, it will be the strong and not the weak.’

     ‘And Allen?’

     ‘Allen, mon père,’ she replied with just half a little laugh, ‘is so weak that he is even led — by me.’

     Then her father’s face cleared.

     ‘Allons! allons!’ he said, with a cheerful light in his eye and in the most musical note of his voice, ‘all is for the best. Yes: it is a beautiful world. The young poet is led by you, is he? Women lead the world. I keep my hopes.