eliver a document which
he does not possess; they then only withdraw him from the fire
half-broiled, because the ladies, on their knees, implore mercy for
him. They are like the soldiers on a campaign who execute orders
with docility, for which necessity is the only plea, and who, without
regarding themselves as brigands, commit acts of brigandage.

But here the situation is more tragic, for it is war in the midst of
peace, a war of the brutal and barbaric multitude against the highly
cultivated, well-disposed and confiding, who had not anticipated
anything of the kind, who had not even dreamt of defending themselves,
and who had no protection. The Comte de Courtivron, with his family,
was staying at the watering-place of Luxeuil with his uncle, the Abbe
of Clermont-Tonnerre, an old man of seventy years. On the 19th of July,
fifty peasants from Fougerolle break into and demolish everything in the
houses of an usher and a collector of the excise. Thereupon the mayor
of the place intimates to the nobles and magistrates who are taking the
waters, that they had better leave the house in twenty-four hours, as
"he had been advised of an intention to burn the houses in which they
were staying," and he did not wish to have Luxeuil exposed to this
danger on account of their presence there. The following day, the guard,
as obliging as the mayor, allows the band to enter the town and to force
the abbey: the usual events follow, renunciations are extorted, records
and cellars are ransacked, plate and other effects are stolen. M. de
Courtivron escaping with his uncle during the night, the alarm bell
is sounded and they are pursued, and with difficulty obtain refuge
in Plombieres. The bourgeoisie of Plombieres, however, for fear of
compromising themselves, oblige them to depart. On the road two hundred
insurgents threaten to kill their horses and to smash their carriage,
and they only find safety at last at Porentruy, outside of France.
On his return, M. de Courtivron is shot at by the band which has just
pillaged the abbey of Lure, and they shout out at him as he passes,
"Let's massacre the nobles!" Meanwhile, the chateau of Vauvilliers, to
which his sick wife had been carried, is devastated from top to bottom;
the mob search for her everywhere, and she only escapes by hiding
herself in a hay-loft. Both are anxious to fly into Burgundy, but word
is sent them that at Dijon "the nobles are blockaded by the people," and
that, in the co