"The French Guards be hanged!" shouted the Marquis de Lacheville hotly. "I would not trust them further than the canaille itself; they are a white-livered lot in spite of their gaudy uniforms. Thank heaven, we have other troops who are good and loyal, and who will put down these disorders in a trice." "We shall look to you, then, marquis," said the cavalier, "to restore peace and quiet for us at once." "I would not soil my hands with such dirt," replied de Lacheville haughtily, and scowling at what he thought was a disposition on the part of the chevalier to ridicule him. "Is there really danger?" inquired the Countess d'Arlincourt of her husband. "The situation is grave, but I hardly think there is great cause for alarm," he answered. "The king has too many loyal subjects to permit anarchy and riot to exist for any length of time." "Let us go out upon the balcony," interrupted St. Hilaire; "the show is about to pass under our windows." He threw open the windows and ushered his friends out upon the balcony with a gesture as if he were bidding them welcome to his box at the opera. Down the street, with a roar that drowned all other sounds, came the surging mass like a torrent that had burst its bounds. In the front ranks, carried on the shoulders of a dozen, were two men dressed in the uniform of the French Guards. They were greeted on all sides with acclamations. "See how the Guards fraternize with the mob," said de Lacheville. "Down with the French Guards! Down with the rabble!" he cried in his excitement, shaking his fist over the railing. St. Hilaire gripped his arm. "I don't care how much you expose your own life, but as I do not wish to bring insult or danger upon the ladies under my roof, perhaps you had better refrain from expressing your opinions for the present." "Do you think they would dare attack this house?" demanded de Lacheville, turning pale. "Men who have successfully stormed a prison are not likely to hesitate before the walls of a house, even though it does belong to a marquis," replied St. Hilaire. "Look at that!" he exclaimed suddenly, pointing up the street. Then turning to d'Arlincourt, he said, "Get the ladies inside as quickly as possible." The count had no sooner followed his directions, than along the street, borne on long poles on a level with the very eyes of those on the balcony, appeared two heads dripping with blood. "Dear me, whose are those?" exclaimed the chevalier, adjusting his eyeglasses. "By my soul, it's poor Delaunay's head. They have treated him most shabbily. Can you make out the other, St. Hilaire?" "No," answered the marquis, "I was never good at recognizing faces," and he stepped to the window to reassure the ladies in the salon. The chevalier leaned over the railing and called out to one of the men in the crowd:-- "My good fellow, will you have the kindness to tell me whose head they are carrying on the second pole?"