scarcely got the length of the street when we met the Marquis returning, in a furious temper at having found it impossible to get as far as the country house, a few miles out of Paris, where he was to meet his friends. He was furious, and, perhaps for the first time, alarmed; for, my friends, do you know what had happened the night before?--it was that of the 2nd of September!' and Ludovic looked up hesitatingly. Germain bowed his head. "`I know,' he said, `and so does Pierre. But we would not tell my poor wife. However, perhaps it is foolish,' and turning to Madame Germain, he rapidly related to her how on that dreadful night bands of wretches, armed with pikes and hatchets, had burst open the doors of the prisons of Paris, and there slaughtered the unfortunate beings--all of the upper classes, and many innocent of any wrong--who had been seized and shut up as `suspected' of disloyalty to the new Government. For which bloody deed the wretches who had committed it were liberally rewarded by the authorities! "`Yes,' continued Ludovic, `for the first time the Marquis believed that the mob--the hounds and dogs he had despised--was a terrible enemy to have aroused, for the worst and lowest come to the front at such times. Perhaps he meant it for the best; but it was, I fear, an awful mistake. He turned the horses' heads, and insisted on his sister returning to his hotel. It was utterly impossible, he maintained, for her to attempt the journey thus alone and unprotected, save by an old fool, as he amiably called _me_. But what did I care? And there we were again-- half-an-hour after our hopeful departure--powerless and heart-broken with disappointment. What the Countess heard of the horrors I have told you I do not know--I dared not ask, for if she had _not_ heard all, I would have been the last to tell her. But that evening, late, she sent for me privately, and gave me her instructions. She was as pale as death--she has changed terribly, and what wonder! Many a time I have thought our dear lady was not long for this world, and she thinks so, I believe, herself. "My good Ludovic," she said, "this has been a terrible disappointment. But for the moment I can attempt nothing else. It may be here, as my brother says, that in spite of all our precautions, in the present terribly excited state of the town, had we got as far as the barriers it would but have been to be stopped, and perhaps seized and imprisoned. He insists that it is better to wait a few days. But he has promised me at once to arrange for our all flying to Valmont--poor man, at Sarinet there is no longer a roof to shelter him and his!--and so, my good Ludovic, I must try to take courage and hope, though my mind misgives me sorely. For that my poor brother has hitherto escaped seems to me scarcely short of a miracle, and I cannot feel confidence in his still doing so. Therefore, my faithful friend, I want _you_ to set off at once for Valmont. It is for yourself; less