Gonfleur shut the door quickly behind them and they turned to the left, crossed the street, and found themselves at the side portal of the Saint Frère house before they knew it. As they stood for a moment in front of the door while Gonfleur fumbled with the lock in his near-sighted way, the loud clatter of horses’ hoofs rang out sharply in the confused night air. Marie Josephine looked back over her shoulder as they turned into the garden. She saw a squad of mounted soldiers rush by at full speed and disappear in a flash down a side street to the right. Gonfleur muttered to himself as he pushed her gently along the garden path. Proté was waiting at the door and Marie Josephine was glad to see her. Proté took her hand and squeezed it and Marie Josephine squeezed back. “Put Mademoiselle to bed at once. There is rough work to-night. Hear that!” They stood still and listened. There was a dull, heavy booming sound. Proté raised her hands. “Cannon; and it’s the Tuileries. Neville told me a half hour ago that there were wild doings to-night. I’ll take care of Mademoiselle, never fear. Now get you home, Gonfleur. The others will be coming when they know there’s trouble.” As she spoke Proté shut the door and bolted it. Then she and Marie Josephine and Flambeau climbed the stairs as quickly as they could. Proté’s fingers flew in undressing Marie Josephine and very soon she was tucked in her big bed. She lay awake a little while thinking of the music and the dancing and how lovely Rosanne’s cousin Cécile had looked in her white and silver frock and with her hair powdered. “She seemed really grown-up, not pretending like Hortense and Denise, yet she is only fifteen. I saw the party anyway. What would Lisle and the girls say if they knew! I am nearly thirteen and they treat me like a baby. I am not a baby. I think more than Denise and I read many books that she does not know about at all, and I know about things too, battles and poems and old, old days that grandfather told me about. I’m not young at all, really I——” She was asleep! When she awoke it was still dark. Flambeau’s cold nose was touching her arm and Lisle was sitting on the edge of her bed. In her astonishment she sat up and stared at him. He had thrown back the blue velvet, ermine-trimmed mantle that he had worn at the ball, and had unsheathed his jeweled sword. It glowed like a live thing on the whiteness of the satin counterpane. In the light from a flaring socket just outside the open door, his white face, fair hair, and the gleaming crystals on his costume shone in the summer darkness. Marie Josephine touched his arm. “Lisle, why are you here?” she asked. “Isn’t it the middle of the night?” She shook the curls from her eyes, shivering a little in the midnight cold.