itizen, and they 'thee' and 'thou' one another.") Take away Murder
from the French Revolution and it becomes the greatest farce ever played
before the angels!) that thou art treading on my feet. I beg thy pardon,
but now I look at thine, I see the hall is not wide enough for them."

"Ho! Citizen Nicot," cried a Jacobin, shouldering his formidable
bludgeon, "and what brings thee hither?--thinkest thou that Hebert's
crimes are forgotten already? Off, sport of Nature! and thank the Etre
Supreme that he made thee insignificant enough to be forgiven."

"A pretty face to look out of the National Window" (The Guillotine.),
said the woman whose robe the painter had ruffled.

"Citizens," said Nicot, white with passion, but constraining himself so
that his words seemed to come from grinded teeth, "I have the honour
to inform you that I seek the Representant upon business of the
utmost importance to the public and himself; and," he added slowly and
malignantly, glaring round, "I call all good citizens to be my witnesses
when I shall complain to Robespierre of the reception bestowed on me by
some amongst you."

There was in the man's look and his tone of voice so much of deep
and concentrated malignity, that the idlers drew back, and as the
remembrance of the sudden ups and downs of revolutionary life occurred
to them, several voices were lifted to assure the squalid and ragged
painter that nothing was farther from their thoughts than to offer
affront to a citizen whose very appearance proved him to be an exemplary
sans-culotte. Nicot received these apologies in sullen silence, and,
folding his arms, leaned against the wall, waiting in grim patience for
his admission.

The loiterers talked to each other in separate knots of two and three;
and through the general hum rang the clear, loud, careless whistle of
the tall Jacobin who stood guard by the stairs. Next to Nicot, an old
woman and a young virgin were muttering in earnest whispers, and the
atheist painter chuckled inly to overhear their discourse.

"I assure thee, my dear," said the crone, with a mysterious shake of
head, "that the divine Catherine Theot, whom the impious now persecute,
is really inspired. There can be no doubt that the elect, of whom Dom
Gerle and the virtuous Robespierre are destined to be the two grand
prophets, will enjoy eternal life here, and exterminate all their
enemies. There is no doubt of it,--not the least!"

"How delightful!" said the girl;