“And, indeed,” thought Ned, “what reforms were ever compelled without pressure, and what pressure, that was considerate of the pressed, was ever effective?” Now he ran downstairs in haste to inquire of Madame Gamelle the reason of the popular excitement. He found the good woman herself fluttered by it to an uncommon degree. She put the pledge into a half-empty tub of potatoes (a something despised vegetable in the France of that date), that she might gesticulate the more comprehensively. “It is news,” she cried; “a fine ‘facer’ to the notables. How they will squirm, the rascals! We are to have the double representation. It is decreed by Louis, the good king.” “Rather by Sieyes and M. d’Entraigues, is it not?” “_Oh, çà_! That is the way to talk. But you forget the Minister of Finance, who shall go into the calendar of saints, cheek by jowl with St Antoine himself.” On the very noon following that of the declaration respecting the Tiers Etat, lo! there was new commotion in the streets, and holiday faces and footsteps hurrying westward. Again Ned descended and again inquired. Madame received him with a shrill cackle:-- “Oh yes! it is excitement and all excitement, as you say. But what infamy that I am chained to my kennel like a vicious dog.” “What is to do then, madame?” “But this, monsieur: a gas-balloon is to ascend from the garden of the Thuilleries at two o’clock.” Ned sniggered. “The hubbub is extreme beyond that of yesterday; and madame is cut from the enjoyment? Supposing, then, I were to take her place as _fruitière_?” “That is impossible. What fly has stung you? But you can go yourself, and report to me of the proceedings.” “Well,” said Ned, “I think I will, that I may learn to differentiate between the emotions of triumph and of pleasure.” He saw over the trees, as he turned into the gardens, the soft blue dome of the great envelope stretching its creases to the sun--an opaline mound that glistered high and lonely as an untrodden hill summit. But about the show spot itself, when he reached it, he could have thought two-thirds of all Paris collected. In one vast circle--wheel-fely and hub--this enormous hoop of onlookers enclosed the centre of attraction. On its white face-surface upturned, as on the surface of a boiling geyser, bubbles of myriad talk seethed and broke, filling the air with reverberation. Winds of laughter ruffled it; a sun of merriment caught the facets of its countless eyes. It was a wheel of jovial Fortune--of a jewelled triumphal car that had yesterday been a war-chariot, scythed and menacing.