cultivator, a manufacturer . . . and these diversecivilizations succeeded
each other at intervals of time that the mind cannot conceive."

He took out his watch.
Caroline asked if it was already time to go back to the office.

He said it was not, that it was scarcely half-past twelve.
A little girl was making mud pies at the foot of their bench; a little boy of

seven or eight years was playing in front of them. Whilst his mother was
sewing on an adjoining bench, he played all alone at being a run-away horse,

and with that power of illusion, of which children are capable, he imagined
that he was at the same time the horse, and those who ran after him, and those

who fled in terror before him. He kept struggling with himself and shouting:
"Stop him, Hi! Hi! This is an awful horse, he has got the bit between his

teeth."
Caroline asked the question:

"Do you think that men were happy formerly?"
Her companion answered:

"They suffered less when they were younger. They acted like that little boy:
they played; they played at arts, at virtues, at vices, at heroism, at

beliefs, at pleasures; they had illusions which entertained them; they made a
noise; they amused themselves. But now. . . ."

He interrupted himself, and looked again at his watch.
The child, who was running, struck his foot against the little girl's pail,

and fell his full length on the gravel. He remained a moment stretched out
motionless, then raised himself up on the palms of his hands. His forehead

puckered, his mouth opened, and he burst into tears. His mother ran up, but
Caroline had lifted him from the ground and was wiping his eyes and mouth with

her handkerchief.
The child kept on sobbing and Clair took him in his arms.

"Come, don't cry, my little man! I am going to tell you a story.
"A fisherman once threw his net into the sea and drew out a little, sealed,

copper pot, which he opened with his knife. Smoke came out of it, and as it
mounted up to the clouds the smoke grew thicker and thicker and became a giant

who gave such a terrible yawn that the whole world was blown to dust.
Clair stopped himself, gave a dry laugh, and handed the child back to his

mother. Then he took out his watch again, and kneeling on the bench with his
elbows resting on its back he gazed at the town. As far as the eye could

reach, the multitude of houses stood out in their tiny immensity.
Caroline turned her eyes in the same direction.

"What splendid weather it is!" said she. "The sun's rays change the smoke on
the horizon into gold. The worst thing about civilization is that it deprives

one of the light of day."
We did not answer; his looks remained fixed on a place in the town.

After some seconds of silence they saw about half a mile away, in the richer
district on the other side of the river, a sort of tragic fog rearing itself

upwards. A moment afterwards an explosion was heard even where they were
sitting, and an immense tree of smoke mounted towards the pure sky. Little by

little the air was filled with an imperceptible murmur caused by the shouts of
thousands of men. Cries burst forth quite close to the square.

"What has been blown up?"
The bewilderment was great, for although accidents were common, such a violent

explosion as this one had never been seen, and everybody perceived that
something terribly strange had happened.

Attempts were made to locate the place of the accident; districts, streets,
different buildings, clubs, theatres, and shops were mentioned. Information

gradually became more precise and at last the truth was known.
"The Steel Trust has just been blown up."

Clair put his watch back into his pocket.
Caroline looked at him closely and her eyes filled with astonishment.

At last she whispered in his ear:
"Did you know it? Were you expecting it? Was it you . . .?"

He answered very calmly:
"That town ought to be destroyed."

She replied in a gentle and thoughtful tone:
"I think so too."

And both of them returned quietly to their work.
S. 3

From that day onward, anarchist attempts followed one another every week
without interruption. The victims were numerous, and almost all of them

belonged to the poorer classes. These crimes roused public resentment. It was
among domestic servants, hotel-keepers, and the employees of such small shops

as the Trusts still allowed to exist, that indignation burst forth most
vehemently. In popular districts women might be heard demanding unusual

punishments for the dynamitards. (They were called by this old name, although
it was hardly appropriate to them, since, to these unknown chemists, dynamite

was an innocent material only fit to destroy ant-hills, and they considered it
mere child's play to explode nitro-glycerine with a cartridge made of

fulminate of mercury.) Business ceased suddenly, and those who were least rich
were the first to feel the effects. They spoke of doing justice themselves to

the anarchists. In the mean time the factory workers remained hostile or
indifferent to violent action. They were threatened, as a result of the

decline of business, with a likelihood of losing their work, or even a
lock-out in all the factories. The Federation of Trade Unions proposed a

general strike as the most powerful means of influencing the employers, and
the best aid that could be given to the revolutionists, but all the trades

with the exception of the gliders refused to cease work.
The police made numerous arrests. Troops summoned from all parts of the

National Federation protected the offices of the Trusts, the houses of the
multi-millionaires, the public halls, the banks, and the big shops. A

fortnight passed without a single explosion, and it was concluded that the
dynamitards, in all probability but a handful of persons, perhaps even Still

fewer, had all been killed or captured, or that they were in hiding, or had
taken flight. Confidence returned; it returned at first among the poorer

classes. Two or three hundred thousand soldiers, who bad been lodged in the
most closely populated districts, stimulated trade, and people began to cry

out: "Hurrah for the army!"
The rich, who had not been so quick to take alarm, were reassured more slowly.

But at the Stock Exchange a group of "bulls" spread optimistic rumours and by
a powerful effort put a brake upon the fall in prices. Business improved.

Newspapers with big circulations supported the movement. With patriotic
eloquence they depicted capital as laughing in its impregnable position at the

assaults of a few dastardly criminals, and public wealth maintaining its
serene ascendency in spite of the vain threats made against it. They were

sincere in their attitude, though at the same time they found it benefited
them. Outrages were forgotten or their occurrence denied. On Sundays, at the

race-meetings, the stands were adorned by women covered with pearls and
diamonds. It was observed with joy that the capitalists had not suffered.

Cheers were given for the multi-millionaires in the saddling rooms.
On the following day the Southern Railway Station, the Petroleum Trust, and

the huge church built at the expense of Thomas Morcellet were all blown up.
Thirty houses were in flames, and the beginning of a fire was discovered at

the docks. The firemen showed amazing intrepidity and zeal. They managed their
tall fire-escapes with automaticprecision, and climbed as high as thirty

storeys to rescue the luckless inhabitants from the flames. The soldiers
performed their duties with spirit, and were given a double ration of coffee.

But these fresh casualties started a panic. Millions of people, who wanted to
take their money with them and leave the town at once, crowded the great

banking houses. These establishments, after paying out money for three days,
closed their doors amid mutterings of a riot. A crowd of fugitives, laden with

their baggage, besieged the railway stations and took the town by storm. Many
who were anxious to lay in a stock of provisions and take refuge in the

cellars, attacked the grocery stores, although they were guarded by soldiers
with fixed bayonets. The public authorities displayed energy. Numerous arrests

were made and thousands of warrants issued against suspected persons.
During the three weeks that followed no outrage was committed. There was a

rumour that bombs had been found in the Opera House, in the cellars of the
Town Hall, and beside one of the Pillars of the Stock Exchange. But it was

soon known that these were boxes of sweets that had been put in those places
by practical jokers or lunatics. One of the accused, when questioned by a

magistrate, declared that he was the chief author of the explosions, and said
that all his accomplices had lost their lives. These confessions were

published by the newspapers and helped to reassure public opinion. It was only
towards the close of the examination that the magistrates saw they had to deal

with a pretender who was in no way connected with any of the crimes.
The experts chosen by the courts discovered nothing that enabled them to