St. Hilaire took up the lamp, and in spite of her remonstrances accompanied her down the four flights of stairs. At the door stood a handsome equipage. "That is mine," she said, as St. Hilaire escorted her to the carriage; there was the same slight touch of pride in her tone that had crept out once before. "This once belonged to the Duchess de Montmorenci," she said. "It is rather heavy and old-fashioned, but will do very well until I can get a new one." "I see that you have had the coat of arms erased," St. Hilaire remarked. "I suppose your new carriage will have a red nightcap on the panel." "Now you are laughing at me," she said, tossing back her brown curls with a pout. "Good-night, marquis," she added in a low voice in his ear as he was closing the door of the carriage. "Citizen St. Hilaire," he corrected gravely, as she drove away. "You forget there are no more marquises in France." After La Liberté's departure the Citizen St. Hilaire retraced his steps up the stairs, humming quietly to himself. On reaching the top landing he entered his room and sitting down by the window he looked out over the lights of Paris. For two hours he sat thus buried deep in thought and scarcely moving. When he finally arose from his chair the city clock had long struck the hour of midnight. First drawing the bolt to the door as if to prevent intrusion even at that late hour, he opened an old armoire in the corner of the room and took from it an object carefully wrapped in a velvet cover. He took from the covering a sword, with golden hilt studded with jewels. The scabbard, too, was of pure gold, set profusely with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Unsheathing the weapon he held it to the light. He held it carefully, almost reverently, as one holds some sacred relic. His eye was animated and had he uttered his thoughts he would have spoken thus:-- "This is the sword that a marshal of France wielded upon the field of battle. He was my ancestor, and from father to son it has come down to me, the last of my race. It is as bright to-day as when it flashed from its sheath at Rocroy. I have kept it untarnished. It is the sole remaining relic of the greatness of our name."