Night came: the morning festival had been on the great parade ground; the night rejoicing was to be on the site where the Bastile had stood.
Eighty-three trees, one for each department of France, were stuck up to show the space occupied by the infamous states-prison, on whose foundation these trees of liberty were planted. Strings of lamps ran from tree to tree. In the midst rose a large pole, with a flag lettered: "Freedom!"
Near the moats, in a grave left open on purpose were flung the old chains, fetters, instruments of torture found in it, and its clock with chained captives the supporters. The dungeons were left open and lighted ghastly, where so many tears and groans had been vainly expanded.
Lastly, in the inmost courtyard, a ballroom had been set up and as the music pealed, the couples could be seen promenading. The prediction of Cagliostro was fulfilled that the Bastile should be a public strolling-ground.
At one of the thousand tables set up around the Bastile, under the shadow of the trees outlining the site of the old fortress, two men were repairing their strength exhausted by the day's marching, and other military manœuvres. Before them was a huge sausage, a four-pound loaf, and two bottles of wine.
"By all that is blue," said the younger, who wore the National Guards captain's uniform, "it is a fine thing to eat when you are hungry and drink when a-thirst." He paused. "But you do not seem to be hungry or thirsty, Father Billet."
"I have had all I want, and only thirst for one thing——"
"What is that?"
"I will tell you Pitou, when the time for me to sit at my feast shall come."