aw was to be his right for the future.

BOOK THE SECOND

CHAPTER I. THE 'SALLE DES GARDES'

In a large salon of the palace at Versailles, opening upon a terrace,
and with a view of the vast forest beneath it, were assembled a number
of officers, whose splendid uniforms and costly equipments proclaimed
them to be of the bodyguard of the king. They had just risen from table,
and were either enjoying their coffee in easy indolence, gathered in
little knots for conversation, or arranging themselves into parties for
play.

The most casual glance at them would have shown what it is but fair
to confess they never sought to conceal--that they were the pampered
favourites of their master. It was not alone the richness of their
embroidered dress, the boundless extravagance that all around them
displayed, but, more than even these, a certain air of haughty
pretension, the carriage and bearing of a privileged class, proclaimed
that they took their rank from the high charge that assigned them the
guard of the person of the sovereign.

When the power and sway of the monarchy suffered no check--so long as
the nation was content to be grateful for the virtues of royalty,
and indulgent to its faults--while yet the prestige of past reigns of
splendour prevailed, the 'Garde du Corps' were great favourites with
the public: their handsome appearance, the grace of their horsemanship,
their personal elegance, even their very waste and extravagance had its
meed of praise from those who felt a reflected pride from the glittering
display of the court. Already, however, signs of an approaching
change evidenced themselves: a graver tone of reprehension was used
in discussing the abandoned habits of the nobility; painfully drawn
pictures of the poor were contrasted with the boundless waste of
princely households; the flatteries that once followed every new caprice
of royal extravagance, and which imparted to the festivities of the
Trianon the gorgeous colours of a romance, were now exchanged for bare
recitals, wherein splendour had a cold and chilling lustre. If the
cloud were no bigger than a man's hand, it was charged with deadliest
lightning.

The lack of that deference which they had so long regarded as their
due, made these haughty satraps but haughtier and more insolent in their
manner toward the citizens. Every day saw the breach widen between them;
and what formerly had been oppression on one side and yielding on the
oth