"This is no time for marriage," said Eulalie, sadly. "Images of death and violence meet our eyes whichever way they turn. We were born, Eugene, in melancholy times, and our loves are misplaced. We shall meet hereafter; on this earth, I fear, our destinies will never be united."
"Prophetess of evil!" said Beauvallon, gayly. "Your rosy lips belie your gloomy augury. No, Eulalie, this dark cloud cannot forever overshadow the land—even now I think I can see glimpses of the blue sky. Le bon temps viendra,—the good time is coming,—and then, Eulalie, be sure that I will claim your promised hand."
The conversation of the lovers had been so animated and interesting that they did not notice the moment when old Mannette had glided like a spectre from the apartment.
Beauvallon lingered a while,—"parting is such sweet sorrow,"—and finally reluctantly tore himself from the presence of Eulalie, promising to see her again on the ensuing day, and let her know whatever had transpired in the interim.
As he approached the street in which his store and house were situated, he heard the confused murmur of a multitude, and soon perceived, on turning the corner, that a very large crowd was collected outside his door. There were men and women—many of the former armed with pikes and sabres—the latter, the refuse of the populace, who appeared like birds of evil omen at every scene of violence and tumult.
A hundred voices called out his name as he approached, and menacing gestures were addressed to him by the multitude.
"Citizens," said the merchant, "what is the meaning of all this?"
"You shall know, traitor," shrieked a palsied hag of eighty, whose lurid eyes had already gloated on every public execution that had taken place in Toulouse. "Here is Citizen Dumart of the revolutionary committee—ah, he is a true friend of the people—he is no aristocrat in disguise! Vive le Citoyen Dumart!"
"Long live Citizen Dumart! Down with the aristocrats!" shouted a hundred voices.
The Citizen Dumart was a sallow-faced man, dressed in rusty black, wearing an enormous tri-colored cockade in his three-cornered hat, with a sash of the same color girt around his waist. His bloodshot eyes expressed a mixture of cowardice with ferocity. He was flanked by a couple of pikemen as hideous as the Afrites of Eastern romance.