the drop-scenes on the stage.

On this bitterly cold evening of the 27th Nivose, in the second year of
the Republic--or, as we of the old style still persist in calling it,
the 16th of January, 1794--the auditorium of the Theatre National was
filled with a very brilliant company.

The appearance of a favourite actress in the part of one of Moliere's
volatile heroines had brought pleasure-loving Paris to witness this
revival of "Le Misanthrope," with new scenery, dresses, and the
aforesaid charming actress to add piquancy to the master's mordant wit.

The Moniteur, which so impartially chronicles the events of those times,
tells us under that date that the Assembly of the Convention voted on
that same day a new law giving fuller power to its spies, enabling them
to effect domiciliary searches at their discretion without previous
reference to the Committee of General Security, authorising them to
proceed against all enemies of public happiness, to send them to prison
at their own discretion, and assuring them the sum of thirty-five livres
"for every piece of game thus beaten up for the guillotine." Under that
same date the Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National
was filled to its utmost capacity for the revival of the late citoyen
Moliere's comedy.

The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which placed the
lives of thousands at the mercy of a few human bloodhounds, adjourned
its sitting and proceeded to the Rue de Richelieu.

Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made their way
to the seats which had been reserved for them. An awed hush descended
on the throng as one by one the men whose very names inspired horror and
dread filed in through the narrow gangways of the stalls or took their
places in the tiny boxes around.

Citizen Robespierre's neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of
these; his bosom friend St. Just was with him, and also his sister
Charlotte. Danton, like a big, shaggy-coated lion, elbowed his way into
the stalls, whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and idol of the people
of Paris, was loudly acclaimed as his huge frame, gorgeously clad in the
uniform of the National Guard, was sighted on one of the tiers above.

The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered excitedly; the
awe-inspiring names flew about hither and thither on the wings of the
overheated air. Women craned their necks to catch sight of heads which
mayhap on the mo