estore it at the
end of the ceremony. And to make this doubly sure a number of barons
were given to the knights as hostages, the restoration of the vial to be
their ransom. The ceremony over, back to the abbey they went, through
streets adorned with rich tapestries, and surrounded by throngs of
admiring lookers-on, to whom the vial was of as much interest as the
king's crown.

For many centuries this honor came at intervals to the city of Rheims,
and the St. Remy vial figured as an indispensable element of every
kingly coronation. It figured thus in the mission of Joan of Arc, whose
purpose was to drive the English from Orleans and open the way to
Rheims, that the new king might be crowned with the old ceremony. The
holy oil continued to play a leading part in the coronation of the kings
until the reign of Louis XVI. Then came the Revolution, that mighty
overturner of all things sacred and time-honored, and a new chapter was
written in the story of the Sainte Ampoule. It is this chapter which we
have now to give.

The Revolution had gone on, desecrating things sacred and beheading
things royal, through years of terror, and now had arrived the 6th of
October, 1793, a day fatal in the history of the holy oil. On that day
Citizen Rhul, one of the new sovereigns of France, entered the room of
Philippe Hourelle, chief _marguillier_ of the Cathedral of Rheims, and
demanded of him the vial of coronation oil of which he had charge.
Horror seized Monsieur Philippe; but Master Rhul was imperative, and the
guillotine stood in the near perspective. There was nothing to do but to
obey.

"It is not in my care," declared the trembling Philippe. "It is in the
keeping of the cure, Monsieur Seraine. I will instantly apply to him for
it."

"And make haste," said Citizen Rhul. "Bring pomatum and all," thus
irreverently designating the age-thickened oil.

"May I ask what you will do with it?" ventured Philippe.

"Grease the knife of the guillotine, mayhap, that it may the easier slip
through your neck, if you waste any time in your errand."

As may be imagined, Philippe Hourelle lost no time in seeking the cure,
and giving him his startling message. M. Seraine heard him with horror.
Had the desecration of sans-culottisme proceeded so far as this? But an
idea sprang to the quick wit of the cure.

"We can save some of it," he exclaimed.

A minute sufficed to extract a portion of the unguent-like substance.
Then, with a sigh of reg