“’The man of wealth and pride
  Takes up a space that many poor supplied—­
  Space for his lake, his park’s extended bounds,
  Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;
  The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
  Has robb’d the neighboring fields of half their growth;
  His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
  Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
  Around the world each needful product flies,
  For all the luxuries the world supplies: 
  While thus the land adorn’d for pleasure—­all
  In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.’”

As Mr. Jefferson finished quoting the lines, the sound of voices and exclamations of astonishment came to the gentlemen from the other side of the curtain.  Looking into the salon they saw Monsieur de St. Aulaire surrounded by a little group of ladies and gentlemen.  He was speaking quite audibly, so that his words reached the astonished group in the embrasure of the window.

“’Tis the latest from the Club des Enrages—­the King abdicates to-morrow!” He passed on amid a chorus of dismayed ejaculations.

“What is this?” said Mr. Jefferson, in alarm. “’Tis impossible that it should be true.  Yonder I see Montmorin.  I will ask him the meaning of this,” and he passed hurriedly into the salon, leaving Mr. Morris and Calvert alone.

“’Tis some infernal deviltry of St. Aulaire’s, I’ll be bound,” said Mr. Morris.  “I think I will go, too, Ned,” he said, after a minute’s silence, “and see if I can’t find Madame de Flahaut.  She will know what this wild report amounts to.  Oh, you need not stand there smiling at me with those serious eyes of yours, my young Sir Galahad!  She’s a very pretty and a very interesting woman, if a good deal of the intrigante, and as for me, I know excellently well how to take care of myself.  I wonder if you do!” and with that he passed out, laughing and drawing the velvet curtains of the window together behind him.

Mr. Calvert, thus left alone, and being shut off from the great gallery by the drapery of the window, folded his arms, and, leaning against the open casement, gazed out at the beautiful scene before him.  And as he looked up in the heavens at the moon shining with such effulgence on this scene of splendor, the thought came to him that she was shining on other and far different scenes, too—­on the tides of the ocean and on the cold snows of the mountain-peaks; on squalor and wretchedness and agitation in the great city so near; and especially did he think of one tranquil and beloved spot across the sea, on which he had seen this self-same moon shining with as serene a radiance many, many times.  The sounds of laughter and animated talk, the click of silver swords, the strains of music from the musicians in the gallery above the OEil de Beef came faintly to him.  Suddenly he was aware that the curtains had been lifted, and turning around, he saw Madame de St. Andre standing in the light, one hand pulling back the velvet hangings, and, behind her, Monsieur de Beaufort and St. Aulaire.