emains to-day as it was built three hundred years ago.

Desiree nodded and laughed to the children, who interested her. She was
quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to be hoped, may succeed
in continuing until the end of time. She was always pleased to see
children; was glad, it seemed, that they should have congregated on the
steps to watch her pass. Charles, with a faint and unconscious reflex of
that grand manner which had brought his father to the guillotine, felt
in his pocket for money, and found none.

He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture indicative
of familiarity with the nakedness of the land.

"I have nothing, little citizens," he said with a mock gravity; "nothing
but my blessing."

And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not the
act of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. The
bride and bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with hearts as
light and voices scarcely less youthful.

The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles,
through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic
towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little bridal
procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at the approach
of some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in this sight in the
streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to the clatter of the
Saxon cavalry.

But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up his
head with a little exclamation of surprise.

Desiree looked at him and then turned to follow the direction of his
gaze.

"What are these?" she murmured. For the uniforms were new and
unfamiliar.

"Cavalry of the Old Guard," replied her husband, and as he spoke he
caught his breath.

The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, and
immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high
wheels, three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust.
It had small square windows. As Desiree drew back in obedience to a
movement of her husband's arm, she saw a face for an instant--pale and
set--with eyes that seemed to look at everything and yet at something
beyond.

"Who was it? He looked at you, Charles," said Desiree.

"It is the Emperor," answered Darragon. His face was white. His eyes
were dull, like the eyes of one who has seen a vision and is not yet
back to earth.

Desiree turned to those behind her.

"