APITULATION
XXXIX KILL HIM!
XL GOD HELP US ALL
XLI WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD
XLII THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. ANNE
XLIII THE DREARY JOURNEY
XLIV THE HALT AT CRECY
XLV THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE
XLVI OTHERS IN THE PARK
XLVII THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE
XLVIII THE WANING MOON
XLIX THE LAND OF ELDORADO

PART I.

CHAPTER I. IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL

And yet people found the opportunity to amuse themselves, to dance and
to go to the theatre, to enjoy music and open-air cafes and promenades
in the Palais Royal.

New fashions in dress made their appearance, milliners produced fresh
"creations," and jewellers were not idle. A grim sense of humour, born
of the very intensity of ever-present danger, had dubbed the cut of
certain tunics "tete tranche," or a favourite ragout was called "a la
guillotine."

On three evenings only during the past memorable four and a half years
did the theatres close their doors, and these evenings were the ones
immediately following that terrible 2nd of September the day of the
butchery outside the Abbaye prison, when Paris herself was aghast with
horror, and the cries of the massacred might have drowned the calls of
the audience whose hands upraised for plaudits would still be dripping
with blood.

On all other evenings of these same four and a half years the theatres
in the Rue de Richelieu, in the Palais Royal, the Luxembourg, and
others, had raised their curtains and taken money at their doors.
The same audience that earlier in the day had whiled away the time
by witnessing the ever-recurrent dramas of the Place de la Revolution
assembled here in the evenings and filled stalls, boxes, and tiers,
laughing over the satires of Voltaire or weeping over the sentimental
tragedies of persecuted Romeos and innocent Juliets.

Death knocked at so many doors these days! He was so constant a guest in
the houses of relatives and friends that those who had merely shaken him
by the hand, those on whom he had smiled, and whom he, still smiling,
had passed indulgently by, looked on him with that subtle contempt born
of familiarity, shrugged their shoulders at his passage, and envisaged
his probable visit on the morrow with lighthearted indifference.

Paris--despite the horrors that had stained her walls had remained a
city of pleasure, and the knife of the guillotine did scarce descend
more often than did