embers of noble families are to be arrested."

The room was lit up as if to receive company, but the crowd which
had thronged it a fortnight before were gone. The Girondists had
first withdrawn, then the nobles had begun to fall off, for it had
become dangerous for them to show themselves in the streets, where
they were liable to be insulted and attacked by the mob. Moreover,
any meeting of known Royalists was regarded with suspicion by the
authorities, and so gradually the gatherings had become smaller
and smaller.

The only constant visitor now was the Count de Gisons, but he
to-night was absent. The news was not unexpected. The violence of
the extremists of the Mountain had been increasing daily. At the
Cordeliers and Jacobin Clubs, Danton, Robespierre, and Marat had
thundered nightly their denunciations against the aristocrats, and
it was certain that at any moment the order for their arrest might
be given. Such bad news had been received of the state of feeling
in the provinces, that it was felt that it would be more dangerous
to send the young ones away than to retain them in Paris, and the
marquise had been a prey to the liveliest anxiety respecting her
children. It seemed impossible that there could be any animosity
against them, but the blind rage of the mob had risen to such a
height that it was impossible to say what might happen. Now that
she heard the blow was about to fall she drew her younger girls
instinctively to her, as if to protect them, but no word passed
her lips.

"It might still be possible to fly," M. du Tillet went on. "We have
all the disguises in readiness."

"A Marquis de St. Caux does not fly from the canaille of Paris,"
the marquis said quietly. "No, Du Tillet; the king and queen are
in prison, and it is not for their friends to leave their post here
in Paris because danger threatens them; come when they may, these
wretches will find us here ready for them."

"But the children, Edouard!" the marquise murmured.

"I shall stand by my father's side," Ernest said firmly.

"I do not doubt your courage, my son. I wish now that I had long
ago sent you all across the frontier; but who could have foreseen
that the people of France were about to become a horde of wild
beasts, animated by hate against all, old and young, in whose veins
ran noble blood. However, although it is the duty of your mother
and I to stay at our posts, it is our duty also to try and save
our house from destruction;