rrible pamphlet. The latter,
whose name was Kerdanic, was a formidable controversialist. The public
was unmoved. It was said that these defenders of the traitor had been
bribed by the rich Jews; they were stigmatized by the name of Pyrotists
and the patriots swore to exterminate them. There were only a thousand
or twelve hundred Pyrotists in the whole vast Republic, but it was
believed that they were everywhere. People were afraid of finding
them in the promenades, at meetings, at receptions, in fashionable
drawing-rooms, at the dinner-table, even in the conjugal couch. One half
of the population was suspected by the other half. The discord set all
Alca on fire.

In the mean time Father Agaric, who managed his big school for young
nobles, followed events with anxious attention. The misfortunes of the
Penguin Church had not disheartened him. He remained faithful to Prince
Crucho and preserved the hope of restoring the heir of the Draconides
to the Penguin throne. It appeared to him that the events that were
happening or about to happen in the country, the state of mind of
which they were at once the effect and the cause, and the troubles that
necessarily resulted from them might--if they were directed, guided, and
led by the profound wisdom of a monk--overthrow the Republic and incline
the Penguins to restore Prince Crucho, from whose piety the faithful
hoped for so much solace. Wearing his huge black hat, the brims of which
looked like the wings of Night, he walked through the Wood of Conils
towards the factory where his venerable friend, Father Cornemuse,
distilled the hygienic St. Orberosian liqueur, The good monk's industry,
so cruelly affected in the time of Emiral Chatillon, was being restored
from its ruins. One heard goods trains rumbling through the Wood and one
saw in the sheds hundreds of orphans clothed in blue, packing bottles
and nailing up cases.

Agaric found the venerable Cornemuse standing before his stoves and
surrounded by his retorts. The shining pupils of the old man's eyes had
again become as rubies, his skull shone with its former elaborate and
careful polish.

Agaric first congratulated the pious distiller on the restored activity
of his laboratories and workshops.

"Business is recovering. I thank God for it," answered the old man of
Conils. "Alas! it had fallen into a bad state, Brother Agaric. You raw
the desolation of this establishment. I need say no more."

Agaric turned away his head