another; and their souls in emulation seemed to stir and communicate

the thoughts within them until all were melted into one feeling of awe
and pity. It seemed to them that the royal martyr whose remains had

been consumed with quicklime, had been called up by their yearning and
now stood, a shadow in their midst, in all the majesty of a king. They

were celebrating an anniversary service for the dead whose body lay
elsewhere. Under the disjointed laths and tiles, four Christians were

holding a funeral service without a coffin, and putting up prayers to
God for the soul of a King of France. No devotion could be purer than

this. It was a wonderful act of faith achieved without an
afterthought. Surely in the sight of God it was like the cup of cold

water which counterbalances the loftiest virtues. The prayers put up
by two feeble nuns and a priest represented the whole Monarchy, and

possibly at the same time, the Revolution found expression in the
stranger, for the remorse in his face was so great that it was

impossible not to think that he was fulfilling the vows of a boundless
repentance.

When the priest came to the Latin words, Introibo ad altare Dei, a
sudden divineinspiration flashed upon him; he looked at the three

kneeling figures, the representatives of Christian France, and said
instead, as though to blot out the poverty of the garret, "We are

about to enter the Sanctuary of God!"
These words, uttered with thrilling earnestness, struck reverent awe

into the nuns and the stranger. Under the vaulted roof of St. Peter's
at Rome, God would not have revealed Himself in greater majesty than

here for the eyes of the Christians in that poor refuge; so true is it
that all intermediaries between God and the soul of man are

superfluous, and all the grandeur of God proceeds from Himself alone.
The stranger's fervor was sincere. One emotion blended the prayers of

the four servants of God and the King in a single supplication. The
holy words rang like the music of heaven through the silence. At one

moment, tears gathered in the stranger's eyes. This was during the
Pater Noster; for the priest added a petition in Latin, and his

audience doubtless understood him when he said: "Et remitte scelus
regicidis sicut Ludovicus eis remisit semetipse"--forgive the

regicides as Louis himself forgave them.
The Sisters saw two great tears trace a channel down the stranger's

manly checks and fall to the floor. Then the office for the dead was
recited; the Domine salvum fac regem chanted in an undertone that went

to the hearts of the faithful Royalists, for they thought how the
child-King for whom they were praying was even then a captive in the

hands of his enemies; and a shudder ran through the stranger, as he
thought that a new crime might be committed, and that he could not

choose but take his part in it.
The service came to an end. The priest made a sign to the sisters, and

they withdrew. As soon as he was left alone with the stranger, he went
towards him with a grave, gentle face, and said in fatherly tones:

"My son, if your hands are stained with the blood of the royal martyr,
confide in me. There is no sin that may not be blotted out in the

sight of God by penitence as sincere and touching as yours appears to
be."

At the first words the man started with terror, in spite of himself.
Then he recovered composure, and looked quietly at the astonished

priest.
"Father," he said, and the other could not miss the tremor in his

voice, "no one is more guiltless than I of the blood shed----"
"I am bound to believe you," said the priest. He paused a moment, and

again he scrutinized his penitent. But, persisting in the idea that
the man before him was one of the members of the Convention, one of

the voters who betrayed an inviolable and anointed head to save their
own, he began again gravely:

"Remember, my son, that it is not enough to have taken no active part
in the great crime; that fact does not absolve you. The men who might

have defended the King and left their swords in their scabbards, will
have a very heavy account to render to the King of Heaven--Ah! yes,"

he added, with an eloquent shake of the head, "heavy indeed!--for by
doing nothing they became accomplices in the awful wickedness----"

"But do you think that an indirectparticipation will be punished?"
the stranger asked with a bewildered look. "There is the private

soldier commanded to fall into line--is he actually responsible?"
The priest hesitated. The stranger was glad; he had put the Royalist

precisian in a dilemma, between the dogma of passiveobedience on the
one hand (for the upholders of the Monarchy maintained that obedience

was the first principle of military law), and the equally important
dogma which turns respect for the person of a King into a matter of

religion. In the priest's indecision he was eager to see a favorable
solution of the doubts which seemed to torment him. To prevent too

prolonged reflection on the part of the reverend Jansenist, he added:
"I should blush to offer remuneration of any kind for the funeral

service which you have just performed for the repose of the King's
soul and the relief of my conscience. The only possible return for

something of inestimable value is an offeringlikewise beyond price.
Will you deign, monsieur, to take my gift of a holy relic? A day will

perhaps come when you will understand its value."
As he spoke the stranger held out a box; it was very small and

exceedingly light. The priest took it mechanically, as it were, so
astonished was he by the man's solemn words, the tones of his voice,

and the reverence with which he held out the gift.
The two men went back together into the first room. The Sisters were

waiting for them.
"This house that you are living in belongs to Mucius Scaevola, the

plasterer on the first floor," he said. "He is well known in the
Section for his patriotism, but in reality he is an adherent of the

Bourbons. He used to be a huntsman in the service of his Highness the
Prince de Conti, and he owes everything to him. So long as you stay in

the house, you are safer here than anywhere else in France. Do not go
out. Pious souls will minister to your necessities, and you can wait

in safety for better times. Next year, on the 21st of January,"--he
could not hide an involuntaryshudder as he spoke,--"next year, if you

are still in this drearyrefuge, I will come back again to celebrate
the expiatory mass with you----"

He broke off, bowed to the three, who answered not a word, gave a last
look at the garret with its signs of poverty, and vanished.

Such an adventure possessed all the interest of a romance in the lives
of the innocent nuns. So, as soon as the venerable abbe told them the

story of the mysterious gift, it was placed upon the table, and by the
feeble light of the tallow dip an indescribablecuriosity appeared in

the three anxious faces. Mademoiselle de Langeais opened the box, and
found a very fine lawn handkerchief, soiled with sweat; darker stains

appeared as they unfolded it.
"That is blood!" exclaimed the priest.

"It is marked with a royal crown!" cried Sister Agathe.
The women, aghast, allowed the precious relic to fall. For their

simple souls the mystery that hung about the stranger grew
inexplicable; as for the priest, from that day forth he did not even

try to understand it.
Before very long the prisoners knew that, in spite of the Terror, some

powerful hand was extended over them. It began when they received
firewood and provisions; and next the Sisters knew that a woman had

lent counsel to their protector, for linen was sent to them, and
clothes in which they could leave the house without causing remark

upon the aristocrat's dress that they had been forced to wear. After
awhile Mucius Scaevola gave them two civic cards; and often tidings

necessary for the priest's safety came to them in roundabout ways.
Warnings and advice reached them so opportunely that they could only

have been sent by some person in the possession of state secrets. And,
at a time when famine threatened Paris, invisible hands brought

rations of "white bread" for the proscribed women in the wretched
garret. Still they fancied that Citizen Mucius Scaevola was only the

mysteriousinstrument of a kindness always ingenious, and no less
intelligent.

The noble ladies in the garret could no longer doubt that their
protector was the stranger of the expiatory mass on the night of the

22nd of January, 1793; and a kind of cult of him sprung up among them.
Their one hope was in him; they lived through him. They added special

petitions for him to their prayers; night and morning the pious souls
prayed for his happiness, his prosperity, his safety; entreating God