whiskerandoes on furlough
exhibit daggers of improved structure! Meot's gallant Royalists on
furlough are far across the Marches; they are wandering distracted over
the world: or their bones lie whitening Argonne Wood. Only some weak
Priests 'leave Pamphlets on all the bournestones,' this night, calling
for a rescue; calling for the pious women to rise; or are taken
distributing Pamphlets, and sent to prison. (See Prudhomme's Newspaper,
Revolutions de Paris in Hist. Parl. xxiii. 318.)

Nay there is one death-doer, of the ancient Meot sort, who, with effort,
has done even less and worse: slain a Deputy, and set all the Patriotism
of Paris on edge! It was five on Saturday evening when Lepelletier St.
Fargeau, having given his vote, No Delay, ran over to Fevrier's in the
Palais Royal to snatch a morsel of dinner. He had dined, and was paying.
A thickset man 'with black hair and blue beard,' in a loose kind of
frock, stept up to him; it was, as Fevrier and the bystanders bethought
them, one Paris of the old King's-Guard. "Are you Lepelletier?"
asks he.--"Yes."--"You voted in the King's Business?"--"I voted
Death."--"Scelerat, take that!" cries Paris, flashing out a sabre from
under his frock, and plunging it deep in Lepelletier's side. Fevrier
clutches him; but he breaks off; is gone.

The voter Lepelletier lies dead; he has expired in great pain, at one
in the morning;--two hours before that Vote of no Delay was fully summed
up! Guardsman Paris is flying over France; cannot be taken; will be
found some months after, self-shot in a remote inn. (Hist. Parl. xxiii.
275, 318; Felix Lepelletier, Vie de Michel Lepelletier son Frere, p.
61. &c. Felix, with due love of the miraculous, will have it that
the Suicide in the inn was not Paris, but some double-ganger of
his.)--Robespierre sees reason to think that Prince d'Artois himself is
privately in Town; that the Convention will be butchered in the lump.
Patriotism sounds mere wail and vengeance: Santerre doubles and trebles
all his patrols. Pity is lost in rage and fear; the Convention has
refused the three days of life and all respite.

Chapter 3.2.VIII.

Place de la Revolution.

To this conclusion, then, hast thou come, O hapless, Louis! The Son of
Sixty Kings is to die on the Scaffold by form of law. Under Sixty Kings
this same form of Law, form of Society, has been fashioning itself
together, these thousand years; and has become, one way and other, a
most strange M