rontiers--those that have not been rent by the vassals they
had brought to bay, the people they had outraged. The Lilies of France
lie trampled under foot in the shambles they have made of that fair
land, whilst overhead the tricolour--that symbol of the new trinity,
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity--is flaunted in the breeze.

A few of the more proud and obstinate--so proud and obstinate as to find
it a thing incredible that the order should indeed change and the old
regime pass away--still remain, and by their vain endeavours to lord
it in their castles provoke such scenes as that enacted at Bellecour in
February of '93 (by the style of slaves) or Pluviose of the year One
of the French Republic, as it shall presently come to be known in the
annals of the Revolution.

Bellecour, the most arrogant of arrogants, had stood firm, and
desperately contrived through all these months of revolution to maintain
his dominion in his corner of Picardy. But even he was beginning to
realise that the end was at hand, and he made his preparations to
emigrate. Too proud, however, to permit his emigration to savour of a
flight, he carried the leisureliness of his going to dangerous extremes.
And now, on the eve of departure, he must needs pause to give a fete
at once of farewell and in honour of his daughter's betrothal to the
Vicomte Anatole d'Ombreval. This very betrothal at so unpropitious a
season was partly no more than contrived by the Marquis that he might
mark his ignoring and his serene contempt of the upheaval and the new
rule which it had brought.

All that was left of the noblesse in Picardy had flocked that day to the
Chateau de Bellecour, and the company there assembled numbered perhaps
some thirty gallants and some twenty ladies. A banquet there had been,
which in the main was a gloomy function, for the King's death was too
recent a matter to be utterly lost sight of. Later, however, as the
generous supply of wine did its work and so far thawed the ice of
apprehension that bound their souls as to dispose them to enjoy, at
least, the present hour in forgetfulness, there was a better humour in
the air. This developed, and so far indeed did it go that in the evening
a Pavane was suggested, and, the musicians being found, it was held in
the great salon of the Chateau.

It was then that the first alarm had penetrated to their midst. It had
found them a recklessly merry crew, good to behold in their silks and
satins, powder and