ing them
with a stick. Close by the orchestra could be seen the noble young
couple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by his
worship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were to-day obliged
to content themselves with wooden forms, just as if they had been
ordinary citizens; and the lady observed quietly to herself, 'One
sees, now, that there is rank above rank;' and this incident gave an
air of extra festivity to the whole proceedings. The chandelier gave
little leaps, the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and I, the Moon,
was present at the performance from beginning to end."

FIFTH EVENING

"Yesterday," began the Moon, "I looked down upon the turmoil of
Paris. My eye penetrated into an apartment of the Louvre. An old
grandmother, poorly clad--she belonged to the working class--was
following one of the under-servants into the great empty
throne-room, for this was the apartment she wanted to see--that she
was resolved to see; it had cost her many a little sacrifice, and many
a coaxing word, to penetrate thus far. She folded her thin hands,
and looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in a
church.

"'Here it was!' she said, 'here!' and she approached the throne,
from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace. 'There,' she
exclaimed, 'there!' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet. I
think she was actually weeping.

"'But it was not this very velvet!' observed the footman, and a
smile played about his mouth. 'True, but it was this very place,'
replied the woman, 'and it must have looked just like this. 'It looked
so, and yet it did not,' observed the man: 'the windows were beaten
in, and the doors were off their hinges, and there was blood upon
the floor.' 'But for all that you can say, my grandson died upon the
throne of France. Died!' mournfully repeated the old woman. I do not
think another word was spoken, and they soon quitted the hall. The
evening twilight faded and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich
velvet that covered the throne of France.

"Now who do you think this poor woman was? Listen, I will tell you
a story.

"It happened, in the Revolution of July, on the evening of the
most brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a fortress,
every window a breastwork. The people stormed the Tuileries. Even
women and children were to be found among the combatants. They
penetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace. A poor
half-grown boy in