The Opera was crowded
nightly, and undeterred by the fear of any fresh manifestations of
popular discontent, their Majesties were again present. This time the
King was the first to lead off the applause that hailed Pequita's
dancing. And how her little feet flew!--how her eyes sparkled with
rapture--how the dark curls tossed, and the cherry lips smiled! To her
the King remained Pasquin!--a kind of monarch in a fairy tale, who
scattered benefits at a touch, and sunshine with a glance, and who
deserved all the love and loyalty of every subject in the kingdom! But
she had never had any idea of 'Revolution,' poor child!--save such a
revolving of chance and circumstance as should enable her father to
live in comfort, without anxiety for his latter days. And perhaps at
the bottom of all political or religious fanaticism we should find an
equally simple root of cause for the effect.
The day at last came when Sergius Thord held his mighty 'mass meeting,'
convened in the Cathedral square,--all ready for marching orders. No
interference was offered either from soldiery or police; and the people
came pouring up from every quarter of the city in their thousands and
tens of thousands. By noon, the tall lace-like spire of the Cathedral
towered above a vast sea of human heads, which from a distance looked
like swarming bees; and as the bells struck the hour, Thord, mounting
the steps of a monument erected to certain heroes who had long ago
fallen in battle, was greeted with a roar of acclamation like the
thunder of heaven's own artillery.
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