lmly,
close behind me.

"Oh! you atrocious monster! how will you answer for this deed before
your and our king,--before your and our God?" I cried, foaming with
rage.

He galloped up to me, gave me a blow on my head with his stick, and
rode over me. Half stunned, I imagined he had given orders to kill me.
I started up and snatched a carabine from the hands of a dragoon to
defend my life. No one dared to lay hands on me, in spite of the
mareschale's exclaiming repeatedly, "Secure him! secure him!"

While looking around me with consternation, I beheld--oh! horrible
sight--I beheld my uncle with blood streaming from his head, standing
over the corpse of Antonia; I only recognised him by his figure and
clothing. He uttered a frightful shriek towards heaven, and sank
amidst musket shots over the body of his beloved child.

I was going to address the mareschale, but my tongue was paralysed.
Raising my eyes and my arm with the musket to heaven, I received a
blow, and sank down perfectly insensible.

Until then, I had still preserved my faith in humanity, and blindly
devoted myself to this belief. Impressed with the best works of the
greatest minds of our time, I had lulled myself into happy illusions.
I had believed mankind much more humane and freer from the bonds of
barbarism. Indeed, I was the subject of the most lauded monarch of the
world, and France called the reign of Louis XIV. her Golden Age. Alas!
Montreval was one of his governors, and the Palm Sunday of 1703, a day
of that Golden Age. About 200 men were burnt alive and shot on that
day, and even the infant on its mother's breast was not spared. All
the property of the murdered was confiscated, and Montreval's cruelty
was crowned with laurels by the royal hand.

When I had recovered my consciousness and could discover the objects
around, I found myself among strangers, and my wounded head bandaged.
Now and then, during my insensibility, I felt pain, and dimly perceived
that people were employed about me; but this consciousness soon left
me, and I relapsed again into stupor as into a heavy sleep.

"By my faith thou hast a tough life." These were the first words I
heard, as they were uttered by a dirty old fellow, who was standing by
me offering medicine.

I did not see Clementine. I was in a narrow chamber, on a hard, coarse
bed.

"Where am I then?" I asked.

"Thou art with me," said the fellow. I now, for the first time,
remembered the fatal