“Alas! the despotism which had been called a monarchy was succeeded by a despotism far worse, which was called a republic. This was truly the Reign of Terror. The guillotine was never idle. ‘Madame Guillotine,’ it was entitled—that deadly machine invented for those days, when victims were so numerous it was necessary that they be dispatched in the swiftest manner possible. This cruel slaughter was chiefly confined to the metropolis, to Paris, until here a province and there a city, disapproving of their deeds, refused submission to the party in power—the Jacobins. Armies were sent to subdue them. The city of Lyons made the resistance most notable. Thousands of royalists, fleeing for their lives, had taken shelter there, and were zealous in the defense. They hoped by this resistance to inspire other towns, and perhaps all France, to arise and check the course of this Revolution—this monster, ever thirsting for blood. Alas! it was impossible. Besieged by the republican troops, all supplies prevented, for lack of food and ammunition the city was at length obliged to surrender, after a brave and desperate struggle. For any who had taken up arms against the republic there was now no safety but in flight. Flight was nearly useless. They were pursued, captured. The country was searched for leagues around. Within the city, paid informers were everywhere seeking whom they might report as guilty. For the head of a priest or noble the price was doubled. The prisons were filled, crowded. Madame Guillotine could not work sufficiently fast. The Reign of Terror had now begun in Lyons also. “I must not pain you, dear children, with a recital of the horrors of those days. “Among the unfortunate royalists who had taken shelter in Lyons was the Marquis de Rochemont. In one of the fierce conflicts during the siege he had been seriously wounded, and at the time of the surrender was unable to attempt an escape. Nevertheless, he had taken the precaution to remove from his former quarters, and had established himself in a garret of a lofty but dilapidated tenement facing upon an unfrequented court-yard. There concealed, in a manner which would least betoken his rank, his sole companions his motherless little daughter and a faithful servant, he thought to avoid the vigilance of the spies. Often, from his hiding-place, he would hear the explosions of gunpowder, followed by the crash of falling buildings. “What were those buildings? “The residences or the property of Lyonnese, who had engaged in the defense. The Jacobins, in their fury, were reducing the city to ruins. “One evening, as the attendant was dressing his wounds, the Marquis asked, ‘What is the matter, Antoine? you are pale. Your hands tremble.’ “The other responded; ‘Just now, as I came up the stairs, I saw some person listening and peering at the key-hole. As I approached he glided away. It is enough. I fear we are discovered.’