They met in the vast study of Montesquieu at La Brode. Scores of tapers which flickered in the intricately wrought candelabra scarcely brightened the hall, but reflected dimly from the gilt and calf binding which lined the walls, or brought into sharper relief the darkness of the richly ornamented carving on woodwork and wainscote. The men standing about the table by the fire, jesting and arguing noisily, were gentlemen of the age of the sun king, respondent in satin and silver and gold, peruked, armed with jeweled swords and dainty snuff-boxes, from which one was even then providing himself with a pinch while another recited to him an original couplet on the king's new mistress. They were a statesman, a wit, a playwright, a poet, a churchman, gorgeous figures all.

A hush fell upon them as an unobstrusive little man, clothed carelessly in black, took his place at the table and spoke. He had called them together, he said, to discover their opinion on the work he had just completed. They listened delightedly as he read passage after passage. But when Montesquieu glanced up triumphantly they shook their heads. The book would not do, it was truthful, it was clever, it was seditious.

Yet courage was a good midwife, and the "Spirit of Laws" was virile from the day it saw the light of the tapers. Those who doubt may look about them, or may go hear Professor Holcombe explain Montesquieu in Sever 7, at 12 o'clock today.