His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified.
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