ved at the conviction that the only
parallel to the distinction of caste between the hereditary gentry and
all other persons as then drawn in France was the distinction between
the heavens above and the earth beneath; the distance between was
considered simply immeasurable and impassable except by the
transmigration of souls. We cannot understand the extent of it in our
day. No aristocrat is now so blind, no plebeian so humble, as to
sincerely believe the doctrine. But in that age France was steeped in
it. High refinement of manners had grown to really differentiate the
Court from the masses, and the members of the governing order were
jealous of the privileges of their circle to a degree which has no
parallel now. To be suspected of being a farmer or a merchant, no
matter how cultivated or wealthy, was to be written "ignoble." The
higher _noblesse_, making up in their own society, by the acquisitions
of descent and leisure, a delightful sphere of all that was most
fascinating in art, music, dress, and blazonry, as well as power and
fame, moved as very gods, flattered with the tenet that other classes
were an inferior species actually made out of a different clay.
Genealogy and heraldry formed a great part of education. The members of
the privileged families all wore territorial titles as their badge. The
most beggarly individual who wore the sword claimed precedence of the
most substantial citizen. Whatever name was plain, to them was base.

Now Germain's name was plain, and he knew his class was held by these
people as base. His Elysian gardens, thought he, were about to be
snatched away.

About two o'clock in the day he saw with beating heart a courier gallop
up to the staircase of the main entrance, dismount, and wait.

The Chevalier's _maitre d'hotel_ hastily caused the doors to be thrown
wide open, and the hall swarmed full of servants. De Bailleul, donning
his Grand Cross of St. Louis, placed Germain at his side, and stood at
the foot of the steps.

The Princess arrived in a sedan-chair at the head of a procession of
carriages, the first of which contained her chief servants and an abbe,
who was her reader; those following held her husband and the other
guests.

Germain blanched when he saw the latter descend. They wore that bearing
which marked their class, and the dress of each seemed to him like the
petals of some rich flower. The Canadian youth looked at them,
fascinated. At his age the soul watches eag