“Do not blame them too bitterly, monsieur,” he said. “How does it happen that they are what they are? What have they to thank God for? Why should they be grateful to the church? All their lives they have known only cruelty and injustice. Now it is their turn.” “That is true,” I agreed; and suddenly I realized that this rude and ignorant peasant had a broader and truer outlook upon life than I. And I think that that moment saw the birth in me of a new tolerance and sympathy. At least I hope it did! No thunderbolt came. Perhaps God, too, was looking down more in pity than in anger. Attracted by the shout others of the crowd joined the group before the steps, drank of the wine which the girl passed down to them, and began a crazed Bacchanal dance before her. Then a red-faced rogue dashed up the steps to her and screaming with laughter tore her few remaining clothes from her back. “Long live Reason!” he shouted. “I baptise thee!” and he dashed a cup of wine over her glistening skin. Another snatched a twig from a flowering shrub and bending it into the semblance of a wreath placed it upon her head. “Long live Reason!” he shouted in his turn. But a woman in the crowd, jealous perhaps of the attentions shown the naked hussy, suddenly caught up a clod of earth and dashed it into her face; whereupon the goddess dismounted from her throne, vomiting forth I know not what vileness, was caught up by the crowd and passed from sight. Then one of their number mounted the steps and began to harangue them. I could catch only a word here and there, yet it was easy enough to guess, from the frantic shouts which interrupted him, what his subject was. The mob was in a mood for any atrocity. It needed only the application of the spark. M. le Comte’s face grew grave as he gazed down at them. “That is serious!” he said. “When they begin to speechify it is time to think of escape. Have you anything to suggest, Tavernay?” “If we could reach the ground on the side of the tower away from the mob,” I said, “we might escape into the wood, since there seems to be no watch of any kind, nor any one to intercept us.” “Yes, but to reach the ground--we need a rope.” “Is there none in the tower? Surely we can find something----” “At least, we can look,” he said, and led the way to the stair. I followed him, but Pasdeloup, his arms folded, his head sunk in reverie, kept his place at the battlement, staring moodily down at the drunken revel. We descended to the floor below where Pasdeloup’s candle was still burning. A glance at it showed me that it had been half consumed. An hour more and we should be in darkness--if indeed we had not entered the eternal darkness long ere that!