Whose frown abases and whose smile exalts. They shine like any rainbow--and, perchance, Their colours are as transient. It was spring at Bellecour--the spring of 1789, a short three months before the fall of the Bastille came to give the nobles pause, and make them realise that these new philosophies, which so long they have derided, were by no means the idle vapours they had deemed them.…
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