arnest conversation. He was bitterly opposed to these military
pageants, and with the natural eloquence of conviction, he had been
inveighing against the delusions of mankind that culminate in
fratricidal warfare. He was particularly hard on Horace Vernet, that
panegyrist of the _piou-piou_, as he called him.

"How can a man lower his art to the level of tunics and red breeches?"
he asked. "He's at best a stump orator on canvas, using his brushes to
tickle the national pride of the Frenchman! 'L'Empire, c'est la Paix,'
indeed! Does it look like it?"

"Well, so far it does," said Mademoiselle Jeanne. "Surely this is a
peaceful fete. See how the people enjoy it."

"Yes, mademoiselle, poor blind deluded people! Look again, and fancy
that man shot through the heart with a bullet, and that boy on his
shoulders pinned to the wall with a bayonet."

"Oh, don't speak like that, Monsieur Claude; you know I'm an abject
coward. I should fly to the ends of the earth rather than face danger."

"You are right. I beg your pardon; I know I ought not to conjure up ugly
visions, least of all before your eyes, Mademoiselle Jeanne."

"I dare say you think me very foolish, Monsieur Claude, but----"

"Not foolish, mademoiselle; on the contrary, I am grateful to you for
pulling me up when I fly off at a tangent as I did just now."

"Yes, monsieur," she answered, "I know you are always indulgent. That
is, I suppose, why I venture to pull you up, as you call it. You see, I
can't always follow you, and I don't want to be left behind."

That was a long sentence for her.

Whilst the ambassador's guests had elbow-room and to spare, the crowd
below got more and more densely packed; it had so far surged hither and
thither to the accompaniment of good-natured jokes, banter and _blague_,
but suddenly a cry of alarm was raised:--

"_Nom d'un nom_, stand back! _Pour l'amour de Dieu_, don't push; you'll
crush the child! The woman is fainting. Keep her head up or she's lost!"

Those are terrible moments when a crowd first realises imminent danger,
and the instinct of self-preservation overrides all fellow-feeling,
shows no mercy, gives no quarter. Yes, indeed, keep your head up, or you
are lost. In the garden above, the festive gathering was suddenly
changed into a scene of confusion. The ladies shrieked, and one or two
of them swooned in sheer sympathetic terror. Men thundered words of
command to the crowd below, that were lost in a sea of nois