Danton later suffered the dark hour and the snapping of Life’s thread through Robespierre’s cruelty, but the glory of that valiant soul is eternal.

His plea for the ways of Mercy––his gallant deeds (like this particular one) of risking all for the life of a friend––were as signposts to bewildered humanity. He foresaw the precipice down which the Terrorists were headed for the pit:

“This time twelvemonth I was moving the creation of that same Revolutionary Tribunal. I crave pardon for it of God and man. They are all Brothers Cain––I leave the whole business in a frightful welter. Robespierre will follow me; I drag down Robespierre!”

Of a verity, the following Thermidor or hot July saw the fate come true. Universally execrated, the Tyrant was himself dragged down and guillotined. Fell with him the rest of the murdering crew. Black hatred––foul suspicion––wicked vengeance vanished like departing plagues.

There dawned happier days wherein justice bore sway, and little gardens of flowers and love and happiness again sprang up and flourished. Among these blooming gardens let us seek the refuge of Count and Countess de Linieres after the Storm has abated and the kinsfolk it has sundered are united. The sisters of our story are their especial care, daughter and foster-daughter of the exquisite chatelaine.

Young Maurice de Vaudrey is their pride. The old gentleman has reconciled himself to the passing of the Ancient Regime, and through his nephew’s good office has made his peace with the State.

On a bright and beautiful day as Henriette is flitting about the garden, the Doctor––none other than our old friend of La Force––comes with a precious gift.

“The removal of the cataract has been successful,” he says, presenting Louise. “Is it not a joy that she can see?”

The girls intertwine arms and laugh happily. The parents approach. Henriette and Louise embrace the Count, now their foster parent and protector. Back of the Count limps the devoted Pierre, now fully restored from his old hurt of the bayonet 193 thrust. Pierre is to be the Countess’s especial care.

That lovely lady has received her daughter Louise within her arms, a daughter who for the first time can look upon the mother of whose loving care she was deprived for a score of years. In a few moments Henriette summons her sister to her side as a young man, whom we should all recognize, joins the little company.

“Allow me to present to your new eyes Monsieur Maurice de Vaudrey––” then with a shy smile and a glance back and forth, Henriette adds:

“Do you approve of him?”

Recurs the memory of that almost forgotten incident in the Normandy home––Henriette’s promise to stay single till the blind sister should win sight and approve the suitor. Louise is so happy that she decides to tease. She is about to shake her small head and her lips to frame “NO!” But in another moment she uses her new gift to inspect the marvelous young man of whose perfections she had so often heard.

She looks at Maurice from top to toe; the shapely head covered with luxuriant locks, the fine brown eyes, the Apollo features 194 comely yet sensitive, the elegant form, small hands and feet, the graceful and chivalrous carriage––the MAN who is looking at her with a kindly affectionate smile. Really, Henriette hadn’t told her half enough! She clasps her sister with one hand, Maurice with the other, cries: “YES!”

We may leave our hero and heroine there––as Louise and the oldsters presently left them––to taste the exquisite happiness of mutual love. For Love is stronger than Death, and must prevail. And the kisses of Maurice and Henriette blotted out all the wrack and nightmare of the “Orphans of the Storm!”

THE END