In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. Stanley poured wine. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. He was sickeningly aroused by their hands as he slipped in and out of consciousness. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. A large dog was then set at him by a stable-boy; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-bar, he speedily sent him yelping back.
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