he stairs with the slower
steps of one who knew not his way.

"All is well!" he cried. "He is here. Give yourself no anxiety."

And the second comer crossed the threshold, coming suddenly out of the
shadow of the staircase. It was Dormer Colville, white with snow, his
face grey and worn. He shook hands with Barebone and bowed to Juliette,
but the Marquis gave him no time to speak.

"I go down into the town," he explained, breathlessly. "The streets are
full. There is a crowd on the market-place, more especially round the
tobacconist's, where the newspapers are to be bought. No newspapers,
if you please. The Paris journals of last Sunday, and this is Friday
evening. Nothing since that. No Bordeaux journal. No news at all from
Paris: absolute silence from Toulouse and Limoges. 'It is another
revolution,' they tell each other. Something has happened and no one
knows what. A man comes up to me and tugs at my sleeve. 'Inside your
walls, Monsieur le Marquis, waste no time,' he whispers, and is gone. He
is some stable-boy. I have seen him somewhere. I! inside my walls! Here
in Gemosac, where I see nothing but bare heads as I walk through the
streets. Name of God! I should laugh at such a precaution. And while I
am still trying to gather information the man comes back to me. 'It
is not the people you have to fear,' he whispers in my ear, 'it is the
Government. The order for your arrest is at the Gendarmerie, for it was
I who took it there. Monsieur Albert was arrested yesterday, and is
now in La Rochelle. Madame de Chantonnay's house is guarded. It is from
Madame I come.' And again he goes. While I am hesitating, I hear
the step of a horse, tired and yet urged to its utmost. It is Dormer
Colville, this faithful friend, who is from Paris in thirty-six hours to
warn us. He shall tell his story himself."

"There is not much to tell," said Colville, in a hollow voice. He looked
round for a chair and sat down rather abruptly. "Louis Bonaparte is
absolute master of France; that is all. He must be so by this time.
When I escaped from Paris yesterday morning nearly all the streets were
barricaded. But the troops were pouring into the city as I rode out--and
artillery. I saw one barricade carried by artillery. Thousands must have
been killed in the streets of Paris yesterday--"

"--And, bon Dieu! it is called a coup-d'etat," interrupted the Marquis.

"That was on Tuesday," explained Colville, in his tired voice--"at
six o'clock on