r
hawkers were bawling the news of the great victory of Fleurus.

"Yes," thought Gamelin, "victory is ours. We have paid full price for
it."

He could see the beaten Generals, disconsolate shades, trailing in the
blood-stained dust of yonder Place de la Revolution where they perished.
And he smiled proudly, reflecting that, but for the severities in which
he had borne his share, the Austrian horses would to-day be gnawing the
bark of the trees beside him.

He soliloquized:

"Life-giving terror, oh! blessed terror! Last year at this time, our
heroic defenders were beaten and in rags, the soil of the fatherland was
invaded, two-thirds of the departments in revolt. Now our armies, well
equipped, well trained, commanded by able generals, are taking the
offensive, ready to bear liberty through the world. Peace reigns over
all the territory of the Republic.... Life-giving terror, oh! blessed
terror! oh! saintly guillotine! Last year at this time, the Republic was
torn with factions, the hydra of Federalism threatened to devour her.
Now a united Jacobinism spreads over the empire its might and its
wisdom...."

Nevertheless, he was gloomy. His brow was deeply lined, his mouth
bitter. His thoughts ran: "We used to say: _To conquer or to die._ We
were wrong; it is _to conquer and to die_ we ought to say."

He looked about him. Children were building sand-castles. _Citoyennes_
in their wooden chairs under the trees were sewing or embroidering. The
passers-by, in coat and breeches of elegant cut and strange fashion,
their thoughts fixed on their business or their pleasures, were making
for home. And Gamelin felt himself alone amongst them; he was no
compatriot, no contemporary of theirs. What was it had happened? How
came the enthusiasm of the great years to have been succeeded by
indifference, weariness, perhaps disgust? It was plain to see, these
people never wanted to hear the Revolutionary Tribunal spoken of again
and averted their eyes from the guillotine. Grown too painful a sight in
the Place de la Revolution, it had been banished to the extremity of the
Faubourg Antoine. There even, the passage of the tumbrils was greeted
with murmurs. Voices, it was said, had been heard to shout: "Enough!"

Enough, when there were still traitors, conspirators! Enough, when the
Committees must be reformed, the Convention purged! Enough, when
scoundrels disgraced the National representation. Enough, when they were
planning the downf