Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/737

 722  them was their King. In the first instant of alarm, Sir Evan had cried out "Save the King!” not being aware that his majesty had strayed away. Poor young man! His providence and devotion seem meet for a gentler fate. He thought of his King's safety before his own; but unselfishness could not save him, and he perished.

So did they all except the Chevalier de Nantouillet. He, too, must have been burnt to death, had he not in the frenzy of his struggles succeeded in breaking his chain. With that exceptional presence of mind that a great crisis will evoke, he remembered having observed near the entry of the apartments a large trough or tank in which the scullions were washing dishes. All a-blaze he rushed through the room, everybody making way for him, and threw himself into this water, which was sufficient for a complete immersion. This saved his life.

And of that gay party of revellers he was the sole survivor, except the King, who was considered to owe his preservation to a miracle. Surrounded by friends eager to assist, they perished for lack of assistance; because that was what no human power could afford. Two were consumed on the spot, and two lingered for a few days; but death was the result to all but Nantouillet.

And this was all because they were guilty of the folly of ignoring an actual liability—treating as croakers those who would remind them of danger: because, in short, they put on highly inflammable dresses, and ventured within range of circumstances where any carelessness with respect to fire was sure to be deadly.

Kitty will go out a-playing On this pretty merry May morning, And the brook will go humming to meet her: Wilful Kitty forgets mother’s warning.

Kitty stands on a stone and looks down, And keeps saying “I won’t” and “I will,” The brook looks up quietly at her: Silly Robin, why sing you so shrill?

Kitty throws down her clothes on the stone, And stands in her little white smock, The brook looks more quiet than ever In the wavering shade of the rock.

Now the brook has grown tired of playing, It has hid Kitty under the stone, And away it goes panting and humming: Silly Robin, how silent you’ve grown!

T.