eries. There is a picture of Simon beating Louis XVII. Her poor child
has been frightened by it, and she is always dwelling on the dangers of
her position.'

'So,' I said, 'did Queen Adelaide--William IV.'s Queen. From the passing
of the Reform Bill she fully expected to die on the scaffold.'

'There is more reason,' he answered, 'for the Empress's fears.'

'Not,' I said, 'if she fears the scaffold. Judicial murder, at least in
that form, is out of fashion. Cayenne and Lambressa are your guillotines,
and the Empress is safe from them.'

'But there are other modes of violent death,' he answered; 'from one of
which she escaped almost by miracle.'

'How did she behave,' I asked, 'at the _attentat?_'

'Little is known,' he answered, 'except that the Emperor said to her, as
he led her upstairs to her box: "Allons, il faut faire notre metier."'

'Then she is disturbed by religious fears. The little prince has been
taught to say to his father every morning: "Papa, ne faites pas de mal a
mon parrain." The Pope was his godfather.'

'If the Emperor dies, the real power will pass into the hands of Prince
Napoleon. And very dangerous hands they will be. He has more talent than
the Emperor, and longer views. Louis Napoleon is a revolutionist from
selfishness. Prince Napoleon is selfish enough, but he has also passion.
He detests everything that is venerable, everything that is established
or legal.

'There is little value now for property or for law, though the Government
professes to respect them. What, will it be when the Government professes
to hate them?'

_Wednesday, August_ 14.--We talked at breakfast of Rome.

'Is there,' said Beaumont to Ampere, 'still an Inquisition at Rome?'

'There is,' said Ampere, 'but it is torpid. It punishes bad priests, but
does little else.'

'If a Roman,' I asked, 'were an avowed infidel, would it take notice of
him?'

'Probably not,' said Ampere, 'but his _cure_ might--not for his
infidelity, but for his avowing it. The _cure_ who has always the powers
of a _commissaire de police,_ might put him in prison if he went into a
_cafe_ and publicly denied the Immaculate Conception, or if he neglected
going to church or to confession: but the Inquisition no longer cares
about opinions.'

'Is there much infidelity,' I asked, 'in Rome?'

'Much,' said Ampere, 'among the laity. The clergy do not actively
disbelieve. They go through their functions without ever seriously
inquiring whether