Viscount, with the
perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it would
not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been made."

"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should
understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is enough
for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand years
before either of us was born."

With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his place
in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, and
resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted;
which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Cure of the
village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious
gossip of the day.

Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold
fish and the swans, and played _Colin Millard_ in the shady walks, and
made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the first
approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had prepared a
feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. Here, at the head
of the table, with the Madame at his right hand, his guests around, and
the liveried lackeys waiting his commands, Monsieur the Viscount forgot
that anything had ever been made which could mar beauty and enjoyment;
while the two priests outside stalked up and down under the falling
twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime and poverty that were
_somewhere_ now, and of troubles to come hereafter.

And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, and the
beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful Madame and
her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.

CHAPTER II.

It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related
in the last chapter. It was the 2d of September, and Sunday, a day of
rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay,
beautiful France--a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday,
however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no
gay groups of bannered processions; the typical incense and the public
devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in
some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd,
and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of
yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians.

It was a deserted by-st