ie Francaise, around
the corner. So the audiences have been falling off. I hear there is
scarcely any one in the house the nights Mademoiselle Lecouvreur does
not play."

Nothing availed. The thunder of carts resounded in the narrow
streets.

"Come," said the officer. "No matter where the information came
from--get you and all your company into the carts outside--and you can
sleep on a plank to-night in the prison of the Temple, and to-morrow
morning you can give an account of yourself to the Grand Prieur de
Vendome."

There was, of course, a frightful uproar. The soldiers seized the
children and carried them toward the carts, the youngsters screaming
with terror, especially the cobbler's boy, who was the biggest boy,
and yelled the loudest--the parents shouting, crying and protesting.
There was a terrible scene.

As soon as the commotion began, I walked toward the old serving-man.
The confusion was great, but in the midst of it I heard a calm,
imperious little voice saying:

"Peter, come and take me home at once."

It was the young Mademoiselle Capello, standing on the edge of the
stage platform. She was very white, but perfectly composed.

Old Peter took her arm respectfully, when up stepped a brawny
soldier--one of those stout fellows from Normandy--and catching
Mademoiselle Capello by the other arm, said rudely:

"She must go, too!"

I thought old Peter would have dropped dead. As for the young girl,
she fixed her eyes intrepidly upon the soldier, but she was trembling
in every limb.

I could have felled the man with a single blow, but I saw that to make
a brawl with a common soldier about Mademoiselle Capello would be
fatal. Old Peter then managed to gasp out:

"This young lady is Mademoiselle Francezka Capello del Medina y
Kirkpatrick, niece of the Countess Margarita Riano del Valdozo y
Kirkpatrick, and she must be instantly released."

"Well, then," replied the soldier, laughing, "why doesn't the Countess
Margarita Riano del Valdozo y Kirkpatrick keep an eye on her niece,
Mademoiselle Francezka Capello del Medina y Kirkpatrick, instead of
letting her play with these little vagabonds of actors? But, my old
cock, I think you are lying--so here goes!"

And he dragged Francezka off toward the carts, in which the rest of
the children were being tumbled. Peter turned to me.

"For the love of God--" he began, and could say no more for terror and
grief.

"I will follow her," said I, "and no harm sha