The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. She was too late. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo.
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