heir arrest to their trial, and they gazed upon a sight for Gods
and men--a travesty on the sacred name of justice. Such scenes
would seem unbelievable to us but for the recent events of the
Russian Revolution, which prove that in our age also a proletarian
dictatorship can be senselessly wicked and cruel.

The trials--beside their Terror function of upholding a minority
government--were great public shows for the howling rabble and
leering sansculottes, the hoodlums of Paris whom even the masters
dared not offend. The riff-raff acted exactly as at any of their own
celebrations and feastings.

Along the side benches and up on the "Mountain," flirtation and
sweethearting went on, of a rough-and-ready order. Some spectators
coolly munched their dinners. Others, having brought along their
bottles, indulged in drinking bouts. Everyone's ideas of a good time
cannot be the same. There was our eccentric acquaintance the Jolly
Baker, for instance. The height of bliss for him, at one of these
capital trials, was to lean far, far back with open mouth whilst a
tilted bottle, held by a ministering Hebe, spilled ecstatic drops of
damp and ruby "happiness" upon his "open-face" physiognomy.

Another misfit of the grotesque crowds was Picard, foolishly trying to
discover what 'twas all about, gazing soulful-eyed into hoodlum "mugs"
that gave him the merry "ha! ha!" or sickened him with the likeness of
the First Murderer. But "crime," in one instance at least, was
followed by "punishment," for as the murderous citizen suddenly thrust
out his roaring raucous mouth, Picard inadvertently leaned back.

[Illustration: LOUISE AND LA FROCHARD TRYING TO KEEP PIERRE, THE CRIPPLE,
FROM FIGHTING HIS BROTHER JACQUES.]

The huge sansculotte, to his own surprise, was eating the bushy
horse-hair pigtail of Picard's bobbing queue! The ex-valet made a
quick duck. His murderous-looking neighbor, with a full swing,
walloped the countenance of the sansculotte beyond....

On this day of our characters' trial, the side benches and balconies
of the great hall quickly fill with the howling, leering mobs--the
fierce and grotesque chorus of the grim tragedy.

Interspersed with the rabid Jacobins are other--less partisan--spectators,
and among the hurrying throngs a close observer might have noticed the
luckless Pierre Frochard and the blind girl Louise entering. They found
seats on a front bench.

"The judges are taking their places now," said Pierre. "