s about him, who could dream that the 6th of October was but a
few months off!

"Ah, gentlemen, I am no 'king by trade,' as our cousin of Austria hath
called himself. At this moment I feel that I am indeed your King." The
tumult of applause which followed these words was suddenly stilled as
the King lifted his hand and pointed to St. Aulaire.

"But, Monsieur," says Louis, a sombre expression clouding the triumph in
his face as he looked hard at St. Aulaire, "what is the meaning of this
speech of yours to which Monsieur Calvert makes reference?"

"Nom de diable!" whispered St. Aulaire to Calvert, deathly pale and
almost ready to faint from consternation. "You have ruined me!" He
managed to make a step forward and sank down before the King, who
glowered at him.

"'Twas but a plaisanterie, Your Majesty!" and if such a jest, with a
king for the butt, seems incredible, let one remember that already Louis
had been refused his cour pleniere and the Queen lampooned and hissed at
the theatre.

"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire, we have heard before of your
plaisanteries," said Louis, his light-blue eyes flashing more wrathfully
than one could have believed possible, the red heels of his shoes
clicking together, and his heavy figure bent forward menacingly, "but
this audacity passes belief. The court of Louis the Sixteenth needs no
jester. For a season you can be spared attendance upon us. Your estates
in Brittany doubtless need your presence. This unpardonable levity,
Monsieur," he went on, severely, "contrasts strangely with the attitude
and language of this American subject," and he bowed slightly to Calvert
as he turned away.

St. Aulaire, pallid with consternation, stretched out an imploring hand
to the King. "Your Majesty," he said, "'twas but a thoughtless jest, too
idle to be believed or repeated. Will Your Majesty not deign to remember
that St. Aulaire's life and sword have been ever at Your Majesty's
service?"

As the prostrate nobleman began to speak, the King hesitated, turned
back, and looked perplexedly at him. As he gazed, a look of indecision,
of distaste and weariness, crept into his countenance. All the passion,
dignity, and just anger which had lit it up faded away. The brief
revelation of majesty was quenched, and the customary commonplace,
vacant, good-natured expression held sway once more.

"Rise, Monsieur de St. Aulaire," he said, wearily. "We forgive you this
unfortunate plaisanterie, since its