atest pamphlets--and let me tell
you, my dear Calvert, they come out daily by the dozens in these
times--see the best-known men about town, and--but I forget. I am
telling you of what the Palais Royal used to be. In these latter times
it has changed greatly," he spoke gloomily now. "'Tis the
gathering-place of Orleans men in these days, and they are fast turning
into a Hell what was once very nearly an earthly Paradise!"

"You seem to know the place well," said Mr. Calvert.

"No man of fashion but knows it," returned Beaufort, "though I think
'twill soon be deserted by all of us who love the King."

"You were not so fond of kings in America," said Calvert, smiling a
little.

"I was young and hot-headed then. No, no, Calvert, I have learned many
things since Yorktown. Nor do I regret what I then did, but"--he paused
an instant--"I see trouble ahead for my country and my class. Shall I
not stick to my King and my order? There will be plenty who will desert
both. 'Tis not the fashion to be loyal now," he went on, bitterly. "Even
d'Azay hath changed. He, like Lafayette and your great friend Mr.
Jefferson and so many others, is all for the common people. Perhaps I am
but a feather-headed fool, but it seems to me a dangerous policy, and I
think, with your Shakespeare, that perhaps 'twere better 'to bear the
ills we have'--how goes it? I can never remember verse."

As he finished speaking, he reined in his horses sharply, and looking
about him, Calvert perceived that they had stopped before a building
whose massive exterior was most imposing. Alighting and throwing the
reins to the groom, Beaufort led Calvert under the arcades of the Palais
Royal and into the grand courtyard, where were such crowds and such
babel of noises as greatly astonished the young American. Shops lined
the sides of the vast building--shops of every variety, filled with
every kind of luxury known to that luxurious age; cafes whose reputation
had spread throughout Europe, swarming with people, all seemingly under
the influence of some strange agitation; book-stalls teeming with
brand-new publications and crowded with eager buyers; marionette shows;
theatres; dancing-halls--all were there. Boys, bearing trays slung about
their shoulders by leathern straps and heaped with little trick toys,
moved continually among the throngs, hawking their wares and explaining
the operation of them. Streams of people passed continually through the
velvet curtains hung