She bent her head, and was silent a moment. She was no longer a queen,
but one of those awful druidesses who rejoiced in human sacrifices, and
unrolled the pages of the Future by studying the records of the Past. At
length she raised her noble and majestic head again. 'You are all
inclined,' she said, 'to bestow more sympathy on a few worthless victims
than on the tears and sufferings of a whole generation! And you forget
that religious liberty, political freedom, a nation's tranquillity,
science itself, are benefits which Destiny never vouchsafes to man without
being paid for them in blood!'

"'Cannot nations, some day or other, obtain happiness on easier terms?' I
asked, with tears in my eyes.

"'Truths never leave their well unless to be bathed in blood. Christianity
itself--the essence of all truth, since it came from God--was not
established without its martyrs. Blood flowed in torrents.'

"Blood! blood! the word sounded in my ear like a bell.

"'You think, then,' I said, 'that Protestantism would have a right to
reason as you do.'

"But Catharine had disappeared, and I awoke, trembling and in tears, till
reason resumed her sway, and told me that the doctrines of that proud
Italian were detestable, and that neither king nor people had a right to
act on the principles she had enounced, which I felt were only worthy of a
nation of atheists."

When the unknown ceased to speak, the ladies made no remark. M. Bodard was
asleep. The surgeon, who was half tipsy, Lavoisier Beaumarchais, and I,
were the only ones who had listened. M. de Calonne was flirting with his
neighbour. At that moment there was something solemn in the silence. The
candles themselves seemed to me to burn with a magic dimness. A hidden
power had riveted our attention, by some mysterious links, to the
extraordinary narrator, who made me feel what might be the inexplicable
influence of fanaticism. It was only the deep hollow voice of Beaumarchais'
neighbour that awakened us from our surprise.

"I also had a dream," he said. I looked more attentively at the surgeon,
and instinctively shuddered with horror. His earthy colour--his features,
at once vulgar and imposing, presented the true expression of _the
canaille_. He had dark pimples spread over his face like patches of dirt,
and his eyes beamed with a repulsive light. His countenance was more
horrid, perhaps, than it might otherwise have been, from his head being
snow-white with powder.

"That f