anding which she and Felix were the last to turn.
When she at length ran after the others her cheeks betrayed her.

"I can see what you have been doing, girl," her father cried, meeting
her within the door. "For shame, hussy! Go to your room, and take your
friends with you." And he aimed a light blow at her, which she easily
evaded.

"They will need breakfast," she persisted. She had seen her lover, and
though the interview might have had its drawbacks--best known to
herself--she cared little for a blow in comparison with that.

"They will take it in your room," he retorted. "Come, pack, girl! Pack!
I will talk to you presently," he added, with meaning.

The Portails drew her away. To them her room was a haven of rest, where
they felt safe, and could pour out their grief, and let her pity and
indignation soothe them. The horror of the last twenty-four hours began
to fall from them. They seemed to themselves to be outcasts no longer.

In the afternoon Toussaint reappeared. "On with your hoods," he cried
briskly, his good humour re-established. "I and half a dozen stout lads
will see you to a place where you can lie snug for a week."

Marie asked timidly about her father's funeral. "I will see to it,
little one," he answered. "I will let the curate of St. Germain know.
He will do what is seemly--if the mob let him," he added to himself.

"But, father," cried Madeline, "where are you going to take them?"

"To Philip Boyer's."

"What!" the girl cried in much surprise. "His house is small and Philip
and his wife are old and feeble."

"True," answered Toussaint. "But his hutch is under the Duchess's roof.
There is a touch of _our great man_ about Madame. Mayenne the crowd
neither overmuch love, nor much fear. He will die in his bed. But with
his sister it is a word and a blow. The Sixteen will not touch aught
that is under her roof."

The Duchess de Montpensier was the sister of Henry Duke of Guise, Henry
the Scarred, _Our great man_, as the Parisians loved to call him. He had
been assassinated in the ante-chamber of Henry of Valois some two years
before this time; and she had become the soul of the League, having more
of the headstrong nature which had made him popular, than either of his
brothers, Mayenne or D'Aumale.

"I see," said Madeline, kissing the girls, "you are right, father."

"Impertinent baggage!" he cried. "To your prayers and your needle. And
see that while we are away you keep close, and do not