the point where he and Duhamel had halted, had observed the whole
scene from its inception, turned now a livid face upon his companion.

"Shall such things be?" he cried passionately. "Merciful God! Are
we men, Duhamel, and do we permit such things to take place?"

The old pedagogue shrugged his shoulders in despair. His face was
heavily scored by sorrow.

"Helas!" he sighed. "Are they not masters of all that they may take?
The Marquis goes no further than is by ancient law allowed his class.
It is the law needs altering, my friend, and then the men will alter.
Meanwhile, behold them - lords of life and death."

"Lords of hell are they!" blazed the young revolutionist. "That is
where they belong, whence they are come, and whither they shall
return. Poltroons!" he cried, shaking his fist at the group of cowed
peasants that surrounded the prostrate Charlot "Sheep! Worthless
clods! The nobles do well to despise you, for, by my faith, you
invite nothing but contempt, you that will suffer rape and murder
to be done under your eyes, and never do more than look scared
encouragement upon your ravishers!"

"Blame not these poor wretches, Caron," sighed the old man. "They
dare not raise a hand."

"Then, pardieu! here, at least, is one who does dare," he cried
furiously, as from the breast pocket of his coat he drew a pistol.

Blaise, with the girl across the withers of his horse, was