CHAMBERS'S POCKET MISCELLANY. A STORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. BY THE OLD SAILOR, AUTHOR OF TOUGH YARNS,' ETC. 'Till then I banish thee, on pain of death.' King Henry IV. THE period of my narrative is the year 1797, and the opening scene is in the city of Paris. The parties in the French Directory were at daggers' points; and notwithstanding the efforts of Madame de Staël to bring about a reconciliation, the Constitutionalists refused to swear fealty to regicide supremacy, or to acknowledge a power formed exclusively from the most sanguinary faction of the Revolution. The great dependence of the Terrorists was upon the army, under Generals Hoche and Bonaparte, who contemplated a coup d'état to overwhelm the Girondists, who, though in a great measure sensible that danger was hanging its dark clouds over them, yet knew not from what quarter the thunder would burst, and felt themselves unable to shun or counteract it when the storm should roll its overwhelming force to destroy them. It was on the evening of the 15th of September, and Madame Michaud sat with her husband in a parlour of their house, which commanded a view of the Boulevards. The evening was rather sultry; there was but little wind; the sun was hastening down to the verge of the western horizon, mantled in his richest splendour of gold, and purple, and vermilion. Martial music filled the air, for the morrow was to present a grand review to the citizens of Paris, and the troops under Augereau were marching into the capital, to take up their positions. 'How delightfully those strains come upon the ear!' said madame to her devoted and attached husband, as he stood gazing with emotion upon the beautiful woman. 'I dearly love at all times to listen to the soul-inspiring harmony of music, but never more so than when the swell of a full military band breaks the silence of approaching twilight. Hark! she continued; and yet it makes one shudder to think that such heavenly sounds should herald the messengers of warfare and blood!' Michaud started, and a paleness overspread his cheeks. 'It is but too true, Eulalie,' said he mournfully; 'they are indeed the agents of death. And perhaps even now' he added hastily, but instantly checked himself, and paced to and fro in the apartment. "You appear to be disturbed, my dear,' uttered the lady, rising, and throwing her finely-moulded white arms round his neck. Surely I could have said nothing to displease you.' "You! Eulalie? O no!' responded the husband; 'you have ever been a treasure to me, and had I followed your counsel-but it is too late now. But come what I must meet it as a brave man ought.' v, hat do you apprehend, Michaud?' inquired the ouring under painful alarm. 'Do you suspect ? I cannot think that any evil is intended. a death-blow to the liberty the councils through seas of gore to attain. It will be but a show to please us women. Hark! can anything sanguinary be connected with such exquisite music?' 'I may be mistaken, my love,' replied the husband, endeavouring to assume a composure he was far from feeling, for Pierre Michaud was a Constitutionalist and a national representative, against whom the vengeance of the opposing party would be unsparingly levelled, and he had looked upon the expected review as a mere subterfuge to get possession of the capital. He would not, however, terrify a mind that he felt it was his duty, as well as his affectionate inclination, to soothe and tranquillise; therefore he concealed the presentiments of evil that had seized upon his mental faculties, so as greatly to depress his usual flow of animation, and forced nature into a burst of hilarity foreign to his heart. That night the faithful and attached pair sat till near morning holding sweet converse, and enjoying that delightful communion which flows from purity of affection. It was a night of exquisite gratification, and in the stillness of the hour did the eloquent Michaud pour forth, in energetic language, his ardent and faithful love for his wife: he seemed as if inspired; there was an unusual glow of feeling in his breast that he himself could not account for; a heavy weight hung upon his mind, and seemed to force out the ardour of his soul in beautiful and energetic language, and Madame Michaud was happy. Suddenly the heavy report of a cannon came booming through the silence of midnight; the deputy started; he caught his wife in his arms, and clasped her to him with a fervour and strength which seemed to say: 'They shall not part us. For several minutes a deathlike stillness prevailed; neither of them scarcely breathed; but the discharge was not repeated, for the sound of a single unshotted gun had annihilated the French Republic. Augereau had surrounded the Tuileries—the guard surrendered-the palace was taken possession of— |