as no improbable hope.

Amongst those loudest and sternest against the reign of blood; amongst
those most disenchanted of the Revolution; amongst those most appalled
by its excesses,--was, as might be expected, the Englishman, Clarence
Glyndon. The wit and accomplishments, the uncertain virtues that
had lighted with fitful gleams the mind of Camille Desmoulins, had
fascinated Glyndon more than the qualities of any other agent in the
Revolution. And when (for Camille Desmoulins had a heart, which seemed
dead or dormant in most of his contemporaries) that vivid child of
genius and of error, shocked at the massacre of the Girondins, and
repentant of his own efforts against them, began to rouse the serpent
malice of Robespierre by new doctrines of mercy and toleration, Glyndon
espoused his views with his whole strength and soul. Camille Desmoulins
perished, and Glyndon, hopeless at once of his own life and the cause
of humanity, from that time sought only the occasion of flight from the
devouring Golgotha. He had two lives to heed besides his own; for them
he trembled, and for them he schemed and plotted the means of escape.
Though Glyndon hated the principles, the party (None were more opposed
to the Hebertists than Camille Desmoulins and his friends. It is curious
and amusing to see these leaders of the mob, calling the mob "the
people" one day, and the "canaille" the next, according as it suits
them. "I know," says Camille, "that they (the Hebertists) have all the
canaille with them."--(Ils ont toute la canaille pour eux.)), and the
vices of Nicot, he yet extended to the painter's penury the means of
subsistence; and Jean Nicot, in return, designed to exalt Glyndon
to that very immortality of a Brutus from which he modestly recoiled
himself. He founded his designs on the physical courage, on the wild and
unsettled fancies of the English artist, and on the vehement hate and
indignant loathing with which he openly regarded the government of
Maximilien.

At the same hour, on the same day in July, in which Robespierre
conferred (as we have seen) with his allies, two persons were seated in
a small room in one of the streets leading out of the Rue St. Honore;
the one, a man, appeared listening impatiently, and with a sullen
brow, to his companion, a woman of singular beauty, but with a bold
and reckless expression, and her face as she spoke was animated by the
passions of a half-savage and vehement nature.

"Englishman," sa