There seemed little danger of this from the quaking being before them, nevertheless they secured her with manacles. Gabrielle clung to her. The soldiers thrust her aside. ‘Let me accompany her! Oh, let me go with her!’ she pleaded; ‘I have no home but with her!’ ‘What!’ exclaimed Berthier, ‘no home! Why, this house is your home. You have none other.’ Gabrielle was separated from madame. ‘Where are you going to take me?’ asked the poor woman, faintly. ‘To the Bastille,’ answered her husband promptly, stepping in front of her and staring into her eyes dim with fear, ‘where you will be secure, and knowing you to be there, I shall be safe.’ ‘Let her come with me,’ she besought, turning her face towards Gabrielle. ‘By no manner of means,’ answered Berthier with a laugh; ‘I intend to make her very comfortable here. Whilst you enjoy your cell, she shall have your room.’ ‘My cat!’ gasped the wretched wife. ‘Would you have me catch it for you?’ he asked. ‘No. You must go without. Soldiers! remove her.’ They obeyed. She offered no resistance. A carriage was in the yard, ready to receive her. As the men drew her along the corridor and down the stairs, her limbs refusing to support her, her eyes turned from side to side in a strained, uneasy manner, and moans escaped her lips. Gabrielle, almost too stunned to think, stood and gazed after her, but when she saw that the soldiers were about to thrust her into the carriage, with her grey hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, and with no cover for her face, she rallied, and flying back to the room she had left, caught up the bonnet and veil Madame Berthier had so lately taken off, and hastened after her to the court. She sprang upon the step of the carriage, and with her own hands adjusted the straggling hair, put on the bonnet, and drew the veil over the face of her mistress. ‘Gabrielle!’ murmured the poor woman, and the girl flung herself into her arms. ‘Come!’ said Berthier; ‘enough of this. Coachman, drive on.’ Reluctantly the mistress and the maiden parted. Gabrielle stood looking after the carriage, as it rolled towards the gates amidst the furious barking of the hounds. Just as it passed through the entrance and turned into the road, the head and arms of Madame Berthier appeared at the coach window, the latter extended, and her cry, shrill and full of agony, was echoed back from the front of the chateau: ‘Gabrielle! save me, save me!’ ‘That,’ said Berthier, rubbing his eyes, ‘that is more than Gabrielle or any one else can do, excepting myself or the king.’ CHAPTER XIII.