d to such the importance of small things, such as
dinner or a passing personal comfort, are apt to be paramount. Moreover,
he was a remnant of that class to which France owed her downfall among
the nations; a class represented faithfully enough by its King, Louis
XVI., who procrastinated even on the steps of the guillotine.

The wind went down with the sun, as had been foretold by River Andrew,
and the quiet of twilight lay on the level landscape like sleep when the
two travellers returned to the seat at the inn door. A distant curlew
was whistling cautiously to its benighted mate, but all other sounds
were still. The day was over.

"You remember," said Colville to his companion, "that six months after
the execution of the King, a report ran through Paris and all France
that the Dillons had succeeded in rescuing the Dauphin from the Temple."

"That was in July, 1793--just fifty-seven years ago--the news reached me
in Austria," answered the Marquis.

Colville glanced sideways at his companion, whose face was set with a
stubbornness almost worthy of the tenacious Bourbons themselves.

"The Queen was alive then," went on the Englishman, half diffidently, as
if prepared for amendment or correction. "She had nearly three months to
live. The separation from her children had only just been carried out.
She was not broken by it yet. She was in full possession of her health
and energy. She was one of the cleverest women of that time. She was
surrounded by men, some of whom were frankly half-witted, others who
were drunk with excess of a sudden power for which they had had no
preparation. Others, again, were timorous or cunning. All were ignorant,
and many had received no education at all. For there are many ignorant
people who have been highly educated, Marquis."

He gave a short laugh and lighted a cigarette.

"Mind," he continued, after a pause devoted to reflection which appeared
to be neither deep nor painful, for he smiled as he gazed across the
hazy marshes, "mind, I am no enthusiast, as you yourself have observed.
I plead no cause. She was not my Queen, Marquis, and France is not my
country. I endeavour to look at the matter with the eye of common-sense
and wisdom. And I cannot forget that Marie Antoinette was at bay:
all her senses, all her wit alert. She can only have thought of her
children. Human nature would dictate such thoughts. One cannot forget
that she had devoted friends, and that these friends possessed