“Parbleu! here's Massingbred becoming Democrat,” said one. “The next thing we shall hear is his defence of a barricade.” “You'll assuredly not hear that I attacked one in such company as inflicted all this upon me,” rejoined he, with an easy smile. “Here's the man to captivate your 'Belle Irlandaise,' Martin,” cried one. “Already is he a hero and a martyr to Royal cruelty.” “Ah! you came too late to hear that,” said the Pole, in a whisper to Massingbred; “but it seems La Henderson became quite a Charlotte Corday this evening, and talked more violent Republicanism than has been heard in a salon since the days of old Égalité.” “All lights must be extinguished, gentlemen,” said the waiter, entering hastily. “The street is occupied by troops, and you must pass out by the Rue de Grenelle.” “Are the mobs not dispersing, then?” asked the Russian. “No, your Highness. They have beaten back the troops from the Quai Voltaire, and are already advancing on the Louvre.” “What absurdity!” exclaimed the Pole. “If the troops permit this, there is treason amongst them.” “I can answer for it there is terror, at least,” said Massingbred. “All the high daring and spirit is with what you would call the Sans-culottes.” “That a man should talk this way because he has lost a cab-horse!” cried the Pole, insolently. “There are men who can bear the loss of a country with more equanimity,--I know that,” whispered Massingbred in his ear, with all the calm sternness of an insult. “You mean this for _me?_” said the Pole, in a low voice. “Of course I do,” was the answer. “Where?--when?--how?” muttered the Pole, in suppressed passion. “I leave all at your disposal,” said Massingbred, smiling at the other's effort to control his rage. “At Versailles,--to-morrow morning,--pistols.” Massingbred bowed, and turned away. At the same instant the waiter entered to say that the house must be cleared at once, or all within it consent to remain close prisoners. “Come along, Martin,” said Massingbred, taking his arm. “I shall want you to do me a favor. Let us make our escape by the Rue de Grenelle, and I 'll engage to pilot you safely to your own quarters.” “Has anything passed between you and Czernavitz?” asked Martin, as they gained the street. “A slight exchange of civilities which requires an exchange of shots,” said Jack, calmly. “By George! I 'm sorry for it. He can hit a franc-piece at thirty paces.” “So can I, Martin; and, what's more, Anatole knows it. He's as brave as a lion, and it is my confounded skill has pushed him on to this provocation.” “He 'll shoot you,” muttered Martin, in a half revery. “Not impossible,” said Massingbred. “He's a fellow who cannot conceal his emotions, and will show at once what he means to do.” “Well, what of that?” “Simply, that if he intends mischief I shall know it, and send a bullet through his heart.”