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In the ability to think and act with independence there was something decidedly masculine in the spirit of the Princess Marie; and, as I have shown, Scheffer possessed a sympathy and gentleness that was essentially feminine (which is quite a different thing from being effeminate). These two souls complemented each other, and their thoughts being fixed on similar ideals, how can we wonder that a very firm affection blossomed into being?

But the secret of their love has never been written, and base would be the pen that would attempt to picture it in detail.

Take off thy shoes, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.

The Duke and Duchess admired Scheffer, but never quite forgot that he was in their employ, and all their attempts to treat him as an equal revealed the effort. It was as though they had said: “You are lowly bred, and work with your hands, and receive a weekly wage, but these things are nothing to us. We will not think less of you, for see, do we not invite you to our board?”

The aristocracy of birth is very seldom willing to acknowledge the aristocracy of brain. And the man of brains, if lowly born, has a mild indifference, at least, for all the gilt and gaud of royalty. The Prince of Wales does not recognize the nobility of Israel Zangwill; and Israel Zangwill asks in bored indifference, “Who–who is this man you call H. R. H.?”

But love is greater than man-made titles, and when was there ever a difference in station able to separate hearts that throbbed only for each other?

Possibly even the stern old Duke might have relented and given his blessing were it not that events of mighty importance came seething across the face of France, and duties to his country outweighed the duties to his daughter.

On the Thirtieth day of July, Eighteen Hundred Thirty, Ary Scheffer was at the house of his mother in Paris. A hurried knock came at the door, and Ary answered it in person. There on the threshold stood M. Thiers.

“Oh, Scheffer! it is you, how fortunate! you are a member of the household of Orleans, and I have a most important message for the Duke. You must go with me and deliver it to him.”

“I see,” said Scheffer; “the Convention has named the Duke as King of France, and we are to notify him.”

“Exactly so,” said Thiers.

Horses were at the door: they mounted and rode away. The streets were barricaded, so carriages were out of the question, but Scheffer and Thiers leaped the barricades, and after several minor mishaps found themselves safely out of Paris.

The call was not entirely unexpected on the part of the Duke. Scheffer addressed him as “Le Roi,” and this told all.

The Duke hesitated, but finally decided to accept the mission, fraught with such mighty import. He started in disguise for Paris that night on foot.

At the back entrance of the Palais Royal stood Ary Scheffer, and saw Louis Philippe mingle with the crowd, unrecognized–then pass into the palace–this palace that was his birthplace.

The next day Louis appeared with Lafayette on a balcony of the Hotel de Ville, and these two embraced each other in sight of the multitude.

It is not for me to write a history of those troublous times, but suffice it to say that the “Citizen King” ruled France probably as well as any other man could have done. His task was a most difficult one, for he had to be both king and citizen–to please Royalist and Populist alike.

This sudden turn of the political kaleidoscope was a pivotal point in the life of Ary Scheffer. So long as the Duke of Orleans was a simple country gentleman, Scheffer was the intimate friend of the family, but how could the King of France admit into his family circle a mere low-born painter? Certainly not they who are descended from kings!