Meanwhile a Cardinal was puzzling over something, and thinking to himself: "Where did I meet that beautiful Marchioness, or at least a girl who much resembled her? Ah! I remember! It was in the little house where the Dubois woman kept her nymphs, in the King's 'Doe Park,' as he called it, near Versailles. Come, come, that must be an illusion--although, that Italian lord, Aldini, not knowing the antecedents of the old inmate of the Dubois house, might well have left her his name, his title, and all. But let us look into things a bit before we pass a rash judgment." The Viscount of Mirabeau was the first to speak aloud. "Madam the Marchioness," he said, "has pledged us a toast to the death of the revolutionists of all ranks and conditions. I understand how a bourgeois, or a peasant, can be a revolutionary; but I can not admit that princes, nobles, or clericals would train with that breed." "All revolutionists are fit for the noose," retorted a Duke. "But the opinions of the groundlings may be explained by their desire to shake off the yoke. The people is at the end of its patience; it is kicking the traces; it rebels." "You speak words of gold, my dear Duke," answered young Mirabeau. "We shall hang them all, and we shall show ourselves without pity for those pretended revolutionists, Orleans, Talleyrand, Lafayette, and my unworthy brother Mirabeau, who has brought dishonor upon our house." "No, no pity for traitors, to whatever class they belong--nobles, clergy, or bourgeoisie," cried the Count of Plouernel. "On the day of reckoning," echoed the Cardinal, "these felons shall all be hanged, high and low alike." "They shall all be hanged at the same height--on their own principle of equality!" added a young Marquis, laughing. Victoria cut short his laugh. "By the blood of Christ," she cried, "is there not in France a revolutionist a hundred times more damnable than the gentlemen, the bishops, and even than the princes of the blood who league themselves with the revolution--I would say, the most guilty?" Surprise fell upon the company. Finally the Count of Plouernel stammered out: "What! Who is that revolutionist--more highly situated, according to you, than gentlemen or bishops--or even princes of the blood?" "The King, Louis XVI!" Again silence and stupefaction fell upon the thunder-struck banqueters. Some exchanged frightened glances. Others, deep in thought, sought for the key to the enigma. The rest stared at Victoria with anxious curiosity. Abbot Morlet alone said to himself: "Aha! I catch the woman's trend." "How, Marchioness," fumbled Plouernel, "according to you--the King--would be--a revolutionist--and so cut out for the gibbet?" "What was your motive, Count, for giving up your commission as colonel in the French Guards?" returned Victoria, unmoved.