at their theatres and cafes as usual; and a new piece, in which Arnal
performed, was the universal talk of the foyers: while a new feuilleton
by Monsieur Eugene Sue, kept the attention of the reader so fascinated
to the journal, that they did not care in the least for the vacarme
without the walls.

CHAPTER IX.

LOUIS XVII.

The tremendous cannonading, however, had a singular effect upon the
inhabitants of the great public hospital of Charenton, in which it may
be remembered Louis XVII. had been, as in mockery, confined. His majesty
of demeanor, his calm deportment, the reasonableness of his pretensions,
had not failed to strike with awe and respect his four thousand comrades
of captivity. The Emperor of China, the Princess of the Moon, Julius
Caesar, Saint Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, the Pope of Rome,
the Cacique of Mexico, and several singular and illustrious personages
who happened to be confined there, all held a council with Louis XVII.;
and all agreed that now or never was the time to support his legitimate
pretensions to the Crown of France. As the cannons roared around
them, they howled with furious delight in response. They took counsel
together: Dr. Pinel and the infamous jailers, who, under the name of
keepers, held them in horrible captivity, were pounced upon and overcome
in a twinkling. The strait-waistcoats were taken off from the wretched
captives languishing in the dungeons; the guardians were invested in
these shameful garments, and with triumphant laughter plunged under the
Douches. The gates of the prison were flung open, and they marched forth
in the blackness of the storm!

*****

On the third day, the cannonading was observed to decrease; only a gun
went off fitfully now and then.

*****

On the fourth day, the Parisians said to one another, "Tiens! ils sont
fatigues, les cannoniers des forts!"--and why? Because there was no more
powder?--Ay, truly, there WAS no more powder.

There was no more powder, no more guns, no more gunners, no more forts,
no more nothing. THE FORTS HAD BLOWN EACH OTHER UP. The battle-roar
ceased. The battle-clouds rolled off. The silver moon, the twinkling
stars, looked blandly down from the serene azure,--and all was
peace--stillness--the stillness of death. Holy, holy silence!

Yes: the battle of Paris was over. And where were the combatants? All
gone--not one left!--And where was Louis Philippe? The venerable Prince
was a captive in the Tuile