there was still one last hope. 'We go to-morrow for the last time,'
said my father to me on the fifteenth day. 'If it should be in vain
on the morrow, then I shall sell my cross, that you, Louis, may not
need to be hungry any more, and then may God have mercy upon us!' So
we went the next day to the gallery again. My father was to-day
paler than before, but he held his head erect; he fixed his eye,
full of an expression of defiance and scorn, upon the talkative,
laughing gentlemen around him, who strutted in their rich clothes,
and overlooked the poor chevalier who stood near them, despised and
alone. In my poor boy's heart there was a fearful rage against these
proud, supercilious men, who thought themselves so grand because
they wore better clothes, and because they had distinguished
acquaintances and relations, and yet were no more than my father--no
more than suppliants and petitioners; tears of anger and of grief
filled my eyes, and the depth of our poverty exasperated my soul
against the injustice of fate. All at once the whispering and
talking ceased,--the king and the queen had entered the gallery. The
king advanced to the middle of the hall, the grand almoner called
the names, and the favored ones approached the king, to receive from
him the fulfilment of their wishes, or at least keep their hope
alive. Near him stood the young queen, and while she was converging
with some gentlemen of the court, her beautiful eyes glanced over to
us, and lingered upon the noble but sad form of my father. I had
noticed that on previous days, and every time it seemed to me as if
a ray from the sun had warmed my poor trembling heart--as if new
blossoms of hope were putting forth in my soul. To-day this
sensation, when the queen looked at us, was more intense than
before. My father looked at the king and whispered softly, 'I see
him to-day for the last time!' But I saw only the queen, and while I
pressed the cold, moist hand of my father to my lips, I whispered,