Palais Royal or seething
faubourg, in the heart and conscience of patriot Dantons, the cunning
of Robespierres, the wildness of Desmoulins fire-eaters, the
starvation and misery of the people--struck the doomed country with
full force.

In the outcome the fat King Louis XVI, the hapless royal family, and
the whole supporting system of parasitic aristocracy, were hurled down
into black nothingness! The upset released our characters from the
horrors of prison immurement, only to plunge them in the more awful
tyranny of the New Terror.

* * * * *

Early in midsummer the wildest rumors reached Paris that the
Versailles government intended to put down the discontents by weight
of sword. Armies were advancing on the city, 'twas averred--cannon and
arms were being parked in the commanding squares; the King's faithful
Allemands and Swiss were about to attack the representatives of the
people and mow them down.

As a beehive, stirred by over-curious bear or by an invader's stick,
seethes and swarms in milling fury before the myriads of angry
occupants attack and overwhelm the intruder with their stings, so the
seething populace mills in widening and ever widening circles, out to
destroy--burn--slay. The ominous drum murmurs to the people of their
ancient wrongs. Artisans pick up their nearest implements, the butcher
his axe, the baker his rolling pin, the joiner his saw, the iron
worker his mallet or crowbar, rushing to join the homicidal throngs.
Vengeful leaders like Forget-Not urge them on, directing the milling
masses to the central places of the city.

At the Palais Royal gardens, later from the Cafe de Foy, Camille
Desmoulins is in his glory. See him rushing out, sibylline in face;
his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a table: the
police satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not take him; not
they alive, him alive.

[Illustration: DANTON WELCOMES LAFAYETTE AND JEFFERSON, THE
REPRESENTATIVES OF AMERICA'S NEW-WON FREEDOM.]

"'Friends, shall we die like hunted hares? Us, meseems, only one cry
befits: To arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the
throat of the whirlwind, resound: To arms! Friends (continues Camille)
some rallying sign! Cockades, green one; the color of hope!' As with
the flight of locusts, these green leaves; green ribands from the
neighboring shops; all green things are snatched and made cockades
of.... And now to Cur