. But if I had ratified it, Mary Ancel,
what then would have been your course?"

Mary felt for a moment in her bosom, and said--"He would have died
to-night--I would have stabbed him with this dagger."*

* This reply, and, indeed, the whole of the story, is
historical. An account, by Charles Nodier, in the Revue de
Paris, suggested it to the writer.

The rain was beating down the streets, and yet they were thronged; all
the world was hastening to the market-place, where the worthy Gregoire
was about to perform some of the pleasant duties of his office. On this
occasion, it was not death that he was to inflict; he was only to expose
a criminal who was to be sent on afterwards to Paris. St. Just had
ordered that Schneider should stand for six hours in the public place
of Strasburg, and then be sent on to the capital to be dealt with as the
authorities might think fit.

The people followed with execrations the villain to his place of
punishment; and Gregoire grinned as he fixed up to the post the man
whose orders he had obeyed so often--who had delivered over to disgrace
and punishment so many who merited it not.

Schneider was left for several hours exposed to the mockery and insults
of the mob; he was then, according to his sentence, marched on to Paris,
where it is probable that he would have escaped death, but for his own
fault. He was left for some time in prison, quite unnoticed, perhaps
forgotten: day by day fresh victims were carried to the scaffold, and
yet the Alsacian tribune remained alive; at last, by the mediation
of one of his friends, a long petition was presented to Robespierre,
stating his services and his innocence, and demanding his freedom. The
reply to this was an order for his instant execution: the wretch died
in the last days of Robespierre's reign. His comrade, St. Just, followed
him, as you know; but Edward Ancel had been released before this, for
the action of my brave Mary had created a strong feeling in his favor.

"And Mary?" said I.

Here a stout and smiling old lady entered the Captain's little room: she
was leaning on the arm of a military-looking man of some forty years,
and followed by a number of noisy, rosy children.

"This is Mary Ancel," said the Captain, "and I am Captain Pierre, and
yonder is the Colonel, my son; and you see us here assembled in force,
for it is the fete of little Jacob yonder, whose brothers and sisters
have all come from their schools