Harry had read in a book in the library of the chateau an account
of the frightful excesses perpetrated by the Jacquerie. That dreadful
insurrection had been crushed out by the armour-clad knights of
France; but who was to undertake the task should such a flame again
burst out? The nobles no longer wore armour, they had no armed
retainers; they would be a mere handful among a multitude. The
army had already shown its sympathy with the popular movement, and
could not be relied upon. That the marquis himself should face out
any danger which might come seemed to Harry right and natural; but
he thought that he was wrong not to send his wife and daughters, and
at any rate Jules, across the Rhine until the dangers were passed.

But the marquis had no fears. Some one had mentioned the Jacquerie
in one of their conversations, but the marquis had put it aside as
being altogether apart from the question.

"The Jacquerie took place," he said, "hundreds of years ago. The
people then were serfs and little more than savages. Can we imagine
it possible that at this day the people would be capable of such
excesses?"

The answer of the gentleman he addressed had weighed little with
the marquis, but Harry thought over it seriously.

"Civilization has increased, marquis, since the days of the Jacquerie,
but the condition of the people has improved but little. Even now
the feudal usages are scarce extinct. The lower class have been
regarded as animals rather than men; and the increase of civilization
which you speak of, and from which they have received no benefit,
makes them hate even more bitterly than of old those in position