Bellecour, the most arrogant of arrogants, had stood firm, and
desperately contrived through all these months of revolution to
maintain his dominion in his corner of Picardy. But even he was
beginning to realise that the end was at hand, and he made his
preparations to emigrate. Too proud, however, to permit his
emigration to savour of a flight, he carried the leisureliness of
his going to dangerous extremes. And now, on the eve of departure,
he must needs pause to give a fete at once of farewell and in honour
of his daughter's betrothal to the Vicomte Anatole d'Ombreval. This
very betrothal at so unpropitious a season was partly no more than
contrived by the Marquis that he might mark his ignoring and his
serene contempt of the upheaval and the new rule which it had
brought.

All that was left of the noblesse in Picardy had flocked that day
to the Chateau de Bellecour, and the company there assembled
numbered perhaps some thirty gallants and some twenty ladies. A
banquet there had been, which in the main was a gloomy function,
for the King's death was too recent a matter to be utterly lost
sight of. Later, however, as the generous supply of wine did its
work and so far thawed the ice of apprehension that bound their
souls as to dispose them to enjoy, at least, the present hour in
forgetfulness, there was a better humour in the air. This developed,
and so far indeed did it go that in the evening a Pavane was
suggested, and, the musicians being found, it was held in the great
salon of the Chateau.

It was then that the first alarm had penetrated to their midst. It
had found them a recklessly merry crew, good to behold in their