Money and credit--sinews of pleasure as well as business--having flitted from lively Paris, you might suppose that the wheels of Society would cease to turn--that the flower-decked car of gilded Juggernaut would come creeping to a standstill. Not yet. Impelled by the impulse of its own velocity, it continued to crush on awhile. Those who knew were numbed by the chill shadow of the inevitable, or rendered callous by the knowledge of their helplessness. Those who were deaf and blind groped blissfully on in their lighthearted ignorance. Selfish all, depraved most, the blue-blooded sang in merry chorus, "Let us eat and drink that the worms may grow fat on us." Not so the gaunt crowds whose blood was but mud and water. As their long-suffering ancestors had monotonously done, they groaned in unison, crying to God for death, as the only release from misery. What if whole villages were decimated by famine? What if plague and starvation stalked through the towns? My lords and my ladies cared not, for they were poised too high to see. Were the grovelling creatures slaves or insects? Slaves, for they delved patiently, with moans that were vain bleatings as of sheep; whereas outraged insects for the most part sting. We all know that the first duty of serfs is to labour for their betters: their second, when the worn machinery is out of gear, to retire underground with promptitude. How unseemly--nay, revolting, therefore, is their conduct when, weary of groaning and of teeth-gnashing, they belabour with fists instead!