and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impassable
barrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind that
Dolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed her
before him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.

In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe,
Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as by
the doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seen
the latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quitting
the army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearing
that his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the Bonnet
Rouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of a
friend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of the
ex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent and
anxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, the
thought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.
Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judging
from his impassive features, seemed not to share the emotions of which
he was a witness, Coursegol inquired:

"What is going on, my friend?"

"What is going on!" replied the stranger, not without bitterness. "They
are carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streets
of Paris!"

Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On several
occasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke de
Penthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his young
master. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged to
witness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved to
find some way to spare the girl the shameful spectacle that the eager
crowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the same
spot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had become
wet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:

"I am standing in water."

Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, so
Dolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions,
she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground,
she uttered an exclamation of consternation.

"Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror.

Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing
in a pool of blood, and not far