Within twenty-four hours five of the men servants had left without a word. Some of them left because they were frightened, for it was beginning to be thought not so good a thing to be a servant in a great house. It was not the loss of her servants that mattered so much. It was the fact that they were her enemies, and that, with the exception of those who had gone to Pigeon Valley, there was only one remaining whom she could trust—and that was Henri, one of the footmen. “Pardon, Madame, you asked for fresh news from the Tuileries. It is going hard with the Swiss guards. They made a brave stand but they are losing badly, Madame. They cannot resist the people, above all the Marseillais!” It was Henri who spoke. They had not heard him cross the great room. “The Marseillais are fighting well?” It was Lisle who put the question. “Like tigers, Monsieur Lisle,” the servant answered. He was a little, dark man. His voice shook as he spoke and his face was white above his red and gold livery. “The royal family—they are safe?” Madame Saint Frère twisted her lace-bordered handkerchief between her long, white hands as she asked the question, but her voice did not tremble. “Henri cannot know what is going on inside the palace or the Carrousel, maman. He can only glean wild rumors from the crowds in the side streets,” Lisle said a little contemptuously. “Pardon, Monsieur Lisle, but a runner came through and shouted news at the Town Hall. The royal family have taken refuge in the riding school with the National Assembly. They went through the gardens.” Henri waited, and, as the two did not question him again, he left the room as quietly as he had entered it. The comtesse reread a note that lay beside her plate. It was from Monsieur Laurent, Lisle’s tutor, and it stated in polite terms that he had left that morning for England, having had a sudden opportunity to get away. His departure seemed unbearable to the comtesse. Now that Laurent had gone, there were no other men that she could count on at all. She had a brother who was an invalid and some cousins who were preparing to fight with the Royalists but they were not in Paris at the moment. The Comte de Soigné was away fighting. It seemed as though every kind of protection had left her. Things were happening so suddenly, one after another, and although one could not believe that there could be any real danger for any of her family, she would have given much, as she said, to have had her only son safe at Pigeon Valley. “Promise me, Lisle, that you will not go out into the garden,” she said.