lves itself into bloodshed silvered with moonshine.

Dr. Aubertin had for years talked and written speculative republicanism.
So they applied to him whether the baroness shared her husband's
opinions, and he boldly assured them she did not; he added, "She is a
pupil of mine." On this audacious statement they contented themselves
with laying a heavy fine on the lands of Beaurepaire.

Assignats were abundant, but good mercantile paper, a notorious coward,
had made itself wings and fled, and specie was creeping into strong
boxes like a startled rabbit into its hole. The fine was paid; but
Beaurepaire had to be heavily mortgaged, and the loan bore a high rate
of interest. This, with the baron's previous mortgages, swamped the
estate.

The baroness sold her carriage and horses, and she and her daughters
prepared to deny themselves all but the bare necessaries of life, and
pay off their debts if possible. On this their dependants fell away from
them; their fair-weather friends came no longer near them; and many a
flush of indignation crossed their brows, and many an aching pang their
hearts, as adversity revealed the baseness and inconstancy of common
people high or low.

When the other servants had retired with their wages, one Jacintha
remained behind, and begged permission to speak to the baroness.

"What would you with me, my child?" asked that lady, with an accent in
which a shade of surprise mingled with great politeness.

"Forgive me, madame," began Jacintha, with a formal courtesy; "but how
can I leave you, and Mademoiselle Josephine, and Mademoiselle Rose? I
was born at Beaurepaire; my mother died in the chateau: my father died
in the village; but he had meat every day from the baron's own
table, and fuel from the baron's wood, and died blessing the house of
Beaurepaire. I CANNOT go. The others are gone because prosperity is here
no longer. Let it be so; I will stay till the sun shines again upon the
chateau, and then you shall send me away if you are bent on it; but
not now, my ladies--oh, not now! Oh! oh! oh!" And the warm-hearted girl
burst out sobbing ungracefully.

"My child," said the baroness, "these sentiments touch me, and honor
you. But retire, if you please, while I consult my daughters."

Jacintha cut her sobs dead short, and retreated with a formal reverence.

The consultation consisted of the baroness opening her arms, and both
her daughters embracing her at once. Proud as they were, they wept