assumes the appearance of selfishness, even when we meditate a sacrifice.  We are easily led at such times to make a compromise of the question; and this was my present resource.  I resolved that very night to ride to Versailles; if I found affairs less desperate than I now deemed them, I would return without delay to my troop; I had a vague idea that my arrival at that town, would occasion some sensation more or less strong, of which we might profit, for the purpose of leading forward the vacillating multitude—­at least no time was to be lost—­I visited the stables, I saddled my favourite horse, and vaulting on his back, without giving myself time for further reflection or hesitation, quitted Villeneuve-la-Guiard on my return to Versailles.

I was glad to escape from my rebellious troop, and to lose sight for a time, of the strife of evil with good, where the former for ever remained triumphant.  I was stung almost to madness by my uncertainty concerning the fate of Adrian, and grew reckless of any event, except what might lose or preserve my unequalled friend.  With an heavy heart, that sought relief in the rapidity of my course, I rode through the night to Versailles.  I spurred my horse, who addressed his free limbs to speed, and tossed his gallant head in pride.  The constellations reeled swiftly by, swiftly each tree and stone and landmark fled past my onward career.  I bared my head to the rushing wind, which bathed my brow in delightful coolness.  As I lost sight of Villeneuve-la-Guiard, I forgot the sad drama of human misery; methought it was happiness enough to live, sensitive the while of the beauty of the verdure-clad earth, the star-bespangled sky, and the tameless wind that lent animation to the whole.  My horse grew tired—­and I, forgetful of his fatigue, still as he lagged, cheered him with my voice, and urged him with the spur.  He was a gallant animal, and I did not wish to exchange him for any chance beast I might light on, leaving him never to be refound.  All night we went forward; in the morning he became sensible that we approached Versailles, to reach which as his home, he mustered his flagging strength.  The distance we had come was not less than fifty miles, yet he shot down the long Boulevards swift as an arrow; poor fellow, as I dismounted at the gate of the castle, he sunk on his knees, his eyes were covered with a film, he fell on his side, a few gasps inflated his noble chest, and he died.  I saw him expire with an anguish, unaccountable even to myself, the spasm was as the wrenching of some limb in agonizing torture, but it was brief as it was intolerable.  I forgot him, as I swiftly darted through the open portal, and up the majestic stairs of this castle of victories—­heard Adrian’s voice—­O fool!  O woman nurtured, effeminate and contemptible being—­I heard his voice, and answered it with convulsive shrieks; I rushed into the Hall of Hercules, where he stood surrounded by a crowd, whose eyes, turned in wonder on me, reminded me that on the stage of the world, a man must repress such girlish extacies.  I would have given worlds to have embraced him; I dared not—­Half in exhaustion, half voluntarily, I threw myself at my length on the ground—­ dare I disclose the truth to the gentle offspring of solitude?  I did so, that I might kiss the dear and sacred earth he trod.