"The native troops would not fire when ordered, and were hurried back to the barracks by their officers. Worse may come of it. There is much speech-making and turmoil; I am going home to keep out of the trouble;" and the stranger hurried away. Tournay elbowed through the crowd. Standing upon a table under one of the spreading trees, a young man was speaking earnestly to an excited group of listeners that grew larger every moment. Tournay pressed near enough to hear what he was saying. He was tall and slender, with dark waving hair and the face of a poet. He spoke with an impassioned eloquence that moved his hearers mightily, bringing forth acclamation after acclamation from the crowd. He denounced tyranny and exalted liberty till young Tournay's blood surged through his veins like fire. He had thought all this himself, unable to give it expression; but here was a man who touched the very note that he himself would have sounded, touched the same chord in the heart of every man who heard his voice, and by some subtle power communicated the thrill to those outside the circle till the crowd in the garden was drunk with excitement. "Citizens," cried the young man, "the exile of Necker is the signal for a St. Bartholomew of patriots. The foreign regiments are about to march upon us to cut our throats. To arms! Behold the rallying sign." And stretching up his arm he plucked a green leaf from the branch above his head and put it in his hat. The next instant the trees were almost denuded of their leaves. Tournay, with a green sprig in his hat, swung his hat in the air, and cried, "To arms--down with the foreign regiments--Vive Necker!" He struggled to where the orator was being carried off on men's shoulders. "What is it?" he said, in his excitement seizing the young man by the coat,--"what is it that we are to do?" "Procure arms. Watch and wait,--and then do as other patriots do," was the reply. The crowd surged closer about him. The coat gave way, and Tournay was left with a piece of the cloth in his hand. Waving it in the air with the cry of "Patriots, to arms!" he was forced onward by the crowd. CHAPTER II A LITTLE BREAKFAST AT ST. HILAIRE'S The Marquis Jean Raphael de St. Hilaire was giving a breakfast-party. It was not one of those large affairs for which the marquis was noted, where a hundred guests would sit down in his large salon to a repast costing the lavish young nobleman a princely sum. This being merely the occasion of a modest little déjeuner, the covers were laid in the marquis's morning cabinet on the second floor, which was more suitable for such an informal meal.