AGAIN HE WAS IN PARIS, the beloved city where he had been so happy and where he wanted to be happy again.
Once more he was drawn to the Left Bank, to the Boul' Mich and the Latin Quarter, where after a long search he found a small sixth floor apart- ment, two rooms with a small balcony from which he could just glimpse the shimmer of a few green trees in the Luxembourg Gardens.
He settled himself and prepared this time for a longer stay.
It took him no time to feel at home. He had always felt at home here.
HERE IN PARIS he had the great, the unspeakable, good fortune to find, for the first time in his life, someone who, though by different ways, had ar- rived at the same philosophy of Freedom as he had.
Carrard Auban, a son of this city, who had imbibed the revolutionary spirit with his mother's milk, had been part of the socialist movement of his time for as long as he had been able to think; he had first belonged to the party and had then been drawn towards those extremists of communism which advocated the tactic of force; he had been sentenced and incarcerated and during one and a half years in prison had struggled through to those opinions which he now held. During the bloody days of the Chicago Haymarket affair he had lived in London, where his Sunday afternoon discussions with representatives of all shades of socialist opinion had earned him a certain fame. But he had now, for some years, been living in his home town again;