and
laconically labelled "Reports on Lyons," and by packets of letters in
the handwritings of Robespierre and Couthon. At one of the windows a
young boy was earnestly engaged in some occupation which appeared to
excite the curiosity of the person just described; for this last, after
examining the child's movements for a few moments with a silent scrutiny
that betrayed but little of the half-complacent, half-melancholy
affection with which busy man is apt to regard childhood, rose
noiselessly from his seat, approached the boy, and looked over his
shoulder unobserved. In a crevice of the wood by the window, a huge
black spider had formed his web; the child had just discovered another
spider, and placed it in the meshes: he was watching the result of his
operations. The intrusive spider stood motionless in the midst of the
web, as if fascinated. The rightful possessor was also quiescent; but
a very fine ear might have caught a low, humming sound, which probably
augured no hospitable intentions to the invader. Anon, the stranger
insect seemed suddenly to awake from its amaze; it evinced alarm, and
turned to fly; the huge spider darted forward; the boy uttered a chuckle
of delight. The man's pale lip curled into a sinister sneer, and
he glided back to his seat. There, leaning his face on his hand, he
continued to contemplate the child. That child might have furnished to
an artist a fitting subject for fair and blooming infancy. His light
hair, tinged deeply, it is true, with red, hung in sleek and glittering
abundance down his neck and shoulders. His features, seen in profile,
were delicately and almost femininely proportioned; health glowed on
his cheek, and his form, slight though it was, gave promise of singular
activity and vigour. His dress was fantastic, and betrayed the taste of
some fondly foolish mother; but the fine linen, trimmed with lace, was
rumpled and stained, the velvet jacket unbrushed, the shoes soiled with
dust,--slight tokens these of neglect, but serving to show that the
foolish fondness which had invented the dress had not of late presided
over the toilet.

"Child," said the man, first in French; and observing that the boy
heeded him not,--"child," he repeated in English, which he spoke well,
though with a foreign accent, "child!"

The boy turned quickly.

"Has the great spider devoured the small one?"

"No, sir," said the boy, colouring; "the small one has had the best of
it."

The tone and hei