oc had stationed
himself with a few trusty soldiers near the main entrance, where I
joined him. The veteran was fuming with impatience; he only awaited an
order from the Palace to sally forth upon the advancing multitude.

"The King!" roared the excited mob; "where is the King? show us the
King!" and our leader glanced at me as if to say, "I told you the plot
had been betrayed."

Meanwhile the Queen and her attendants, working hard, had restored the
Palace to its usual appearance; Louis was in bed, sleeping soundly, and
all traces of the intended flight had been removed.

Presently a note was brought from the Queen to Belloc, who, reading it
hastily, told the messenger to inform her Majesty that her commands
should be obeyed; then turning to us, he added that no one was to fire
a shot until he himself gave the signal.

"Her Majesty," he explained, "hopes no blood will be shed, but that the
mob having discovered its mistake will disperse quietly."

"A fig for the mob!" said a grim-looking trooper to a comrade; "let our
leader give the word and we will soon clear the courtyard."

"Here comes an officer," said another; "he is wearing the Orleans
colours. What does he want?"

"Bah!" cried a third trooper, who spoke with a strange accent, "this
isn't the way to quell a riot. My old master lost his head through not
knowing how to deal with rebels. The block for the leaders and a
whipping for the others would soon teach them their manners."

The words and the accent made me look at the speaker more closely. He
was a young fellow with fair hair and blue eyes like D'Arcy, but he was
built more stoutly and looked stronger altogether. His name, I learned
afterwards, was John Humphreys, and he was the son of an English
gentleman who had lost his estates through fighting for his King,
Charles I. At the moment, however, I could not think much of this
young exile, my attention being engrossed by the Orleanist officer, who
rode across the courtyard towards us.

"Raoul!" I exclaimed to myself, and drew back into the shadow, not
caring that he should notice me. He did not seem very happy, and
approached our leader as if thoroughly ashamed of his errand.

"I am Captain of the Guard to the Duke of Orleans," he explained, "and
am desired by the Duke to seek an audience with her Majesty the
Queen-Mother."

"Are those your followers?" asked Belloc scornfully, pointing to the
howling mob outside.

Raoul returned no answe