On the river bank Spire Niquet, the bookman, was being burnt over a slow fire, fed with his own books.

In their houses, Ramus the scholar and Goujon the sculptor--than whom Paris has neither seen nor deserved a greater--were being butchered like sheep; and in the Valley of Misery, now the Quai de la Megisserie, seven hundred persons who had sought refuge in the prisons were being beaten to death with bludgeons.

Nay, at this hour--a little sooner or a little later, what matters it ?--M.

de Tignonville's own cousin, Madame d'Yverne, the darling of the Louvre the day before, perished in the hands of the mob; and the sister of M.de Taverny, equally ill-fated, died in the same fashion, after being dragged through the streets.
Madame Carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the mark in her argument.

But Mademoiselle had made up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded.
"If I am to be Monsieur's wife," she said with quivering nostrils, "shall I fear his servants ?" And opening the door herself, for the others would not, she called.