vention; you should be proud of him," Margot added softly.
"Go on, Eddie," Philippe gestured to his sister. "How extraordinary a speech!"
"Yes, this Citizen Quenet is truly admirable! I adore every article and speech of his," Edith excitedly closed and reopened the newspaper.
"There will be an intriguing meeting tomorrow," Philippe said to those in the room. "I believe Citizen Quenet is giving a brilliant speech. You all should come to have a listen."
"Really? I''m going!" Edith was the first to respond.
This Quenet was a rising star in the National Convention since last month, also just turned twenty-five, the minimum age for holding a seat in the assembly. His writing was both eloquent and intellectually stimulating, and he was said to be exceptionally handsome as well.
Now, he was the object of enthusiastic Edith''s fanatical admiration.
"Since he''s someone my brother appreciates, I would also be happy to meet him," Margot said with a smile.
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The following day, Edith and her family sat in the bustling audience of the National Convention.
Edith relished the fervent atmosphere here and eagerly anticipated meeting her idol.
Apparently, the blow from the artist''s sudden departure had not left a very lasting impact on this optimistic young girl. It was not to blame that she was too forgetful or that their friendship was shallow: rather that they had shortly after moved away from the place of heartbreak, while their new home was soon caught up in the revolution.
The turbulent years that followed brought a lot of excitement to this adventure-loving girl, leaving her little time to dwell on past troubles.
A girl like Edith could never be content with being a mere pebble swept along by the tide of revolution. Throughout those tumultuous years, her figure could be seen everywhere.
When women marched on Versailles demanding bread, she stood in the front line with a long pitchfork in hand, like a goddess of war. Her family was abundant in bread and grain at the time, so her aunt naturally disapproved, but no one could ever stop her.
On the first anniversary of storming the Bastille in 1790, she wore a floral crown, lifted high and tossed up in the air by the hands of women and children in the square, waving and shouting to the blue sky, "Liberty, thy name is woman!"
The painter''s brief stay in her life had sowed the seeds