On Thursday four men wearing the simple uniform of the ordinary guard, bearing rifles and in their belts hunting knives, arrived in the deserted park from the Ville d'Avray road and approached one of the little gates opening towards les Trianones which Marie Antoinette, discarding pompous ceremonial, used to frequent. Cautiously they opened the gate, using a key carried by him who seemed the leader. They held a conference in low tones, as tho fearful of disturbing the birds in the trees. The leader's southern type revived recollections of the Catalan smuggler, Albert Serra, a gentleman whom we met in the apartments of Baron Lecazes, just returned from London and professing to have successfully lightered a ship of a cargo of cutlery. This was Volpetti's disguise when he wished to represent a man of the lower classes. "Beware!" he was saying to the others. "Listen well and execute even better. A false step will be fatal to our object. You, Lestrade, are to guide him into the garden. He comes by the route we have taken and will travel on foot from this side Le Chesnay. As for you, Sec and La Grive, remain without, near the gate. I only shall remain inside the park. When he leaves the garden, I shall follow him; and if I signal you by raising my arm, throw yourselves upon him, gagging and binding him. Whatever you find upon his person is to be taken to my superior, the Minister of Police. No matter what happens save the booty. Your lives, my life, are worth nothing in comparison. Whoever carries the prize to the Minister will be a lucky man, I pledge my word." Making motions of assent, the party dispersed. A deep quiet spread over the park, along whose paths the Duchess was even now walking. Her dress of violet silk embroidered in passementerie, betokened mourning. She held her hand on her heart to still its beating. At about the same time, Patin, sergeant of the guard, his services not being required, turned his steps in the direction of a lady friend, a certain laundress, in whose kitchen, so gossip had it, there was never lack of savory dishes and pleasant chitchat for the handsome sergeant. On ascending the stairway, he met a girl whose face seemed glorified by the splendor light of yellow hair, arranged in curls, according to the style of the period. As he drew back to make room for her, he muttered to himself: "The picture of the beheaded Queen!" Some moments later he was asking the laundress, as she stood at her table ironing a dainty garment: "Who is that young girl in mourning that has just left your neighbor's apartment?" "I do not know. I have never spoken with her but I scent a mystery. There is a cat in a bag, several cats, rather. You know my neighbor well." "I should say I did. I have known her and her brother Louis Pierre Louvel a lifetime. Such a sullen silent fellow! I wonder where he is now. No one seems to have heard of him since the banishment of his beloved Emperor."