The smoke hung like a canopy above, and ashes fell like snow through the red gloom. Poisonous vapours spread from bursting shells, low on the ground but rising inch by inch until with taut rein we held up our horses' heads, and swaths of people, strangled by that mist, perished around us. Our way was barred by falling masonry, by sheets of flame; then we were lost in the darkness all alone, and turning a corner found ourselves in the Mall. So Russia dealt with our defenceless crowds, murdering in cold blood from the decks of her battleships. The Grand Duke Alexander was in command, and thus he came to pay his court to the Queen. Slowly we rode along the avenue, thirty-eight left of us out of all the Guard. And having seen so many kinds of death, we were fastidious, not caring to fight our own poor countrymen, or to be any longer jostled through the streets, or butchered by the Russians without a blow returned. Our Lady suggested that we should ride out to the southern lines, but we demurred, having an easy tolerance rather than respect for the French. Neither would she enter the Palace lest the sick and the wounded be disturbed in their beds. It was better to wait in the open. As to our horses we unsaddled the dear beasts for the last time, and because there was no need for them to die--since they had done no wrong--we turned them into the Green Park. Our Lady sat upon the base of the Victoria Monument, and we, drawing away to a little distance, tried to be quiet lest we intrude upon her thoughts. But we could not help looking to see that she was safe, to behold her face, perhaps for the last time, or wonder if we might make her seat more comfortable. Then Lancaster whispered that she must be lonely, thinking herself deserted. So one by one with awkward pretences, we came about the balustrade where she sat, attempted to make conversation, to tell her stories, trying to win her laughter for the last time. They were such tame stories, fell so flat, and none of us could remember which she would like best. At last we made fat Branscombe sing--he had led the Palace choir. "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide, When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, Lord abide with me. "Swift to its close, ebbs out life's little day, Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away----" "Stop," cried our Lady, "I can't bear it, Branscombe!" Then looking out through the red gloom of that unearthly day, we saw an immense crowd surging down the Mall. At first we thought the people were fugitives, but as they drew nearer, by their torches and weapons, the hags who led them and the song they screamed, "The Marseillaise," we knew them for outlaws and gaol-delivered felons.