As I heard him, and felt myself the centre, under the lights, of all those eyes, I could have fancied that I was again in the St. Alais' _salon_, listening to the futile oath of the sword; and that three-quarters of a year had not elapsed since that beginning of all our troubles, But in a moment Froment's voice roused me from the dream. "Very well," he said gravely. "But I think that you forget----" "It is you who forget," St. Alais cried wildly. "Or you do not understand--or know--that this gentleman----" "I forget nothing!" Froment replied with a darkening face. "Nothing, except that we are keeping my guests waiting. Least of all, do I forget the aid, Monsieur, which you have hitherto rendered me. But, M. le Marquis," he continued, with dignity, "it is mine to command to-night, and it is for me to make dispositions. I have made them, and I must ask you to comply with them. I know that you will not fail me at a pinch. I know, and these gentlemen know, that in misfortune you would be my helper; but I believe also that, all going well, as it does, you will not throw unnecessary obstacles in my way. Come, Monsieur; this gentleman will not refuse to sit here. And we will sit at Madame's table. Oblige me." M. St. Alais' face was like night, but the other was a man, and his tone was strenuous as well as courteous; and slowly and haughtily M. le Marquis, who, I think, had never before in his life given way, followed him to the farther end of the room. Left alone, I sat down where I was, eyed curiously by those round me; and myself, finding something still more curious in this strange banquet while Nîmes watched; this midnight merriment, while the dead still lay in the streets, and the air quivered, and all the world of night hung, listening for that which was to come. CHAPTER XXIII. THE CRISIS. When the grey dawn, to which so many looked forward, broke slowly over the waking city, it found on the leads of Froment's tower some pale faces; perhaps some sinking hearts. That hour, when all life lacks colour, and all things, the sky excepted, are black to the eye, tries a man's courage to the uttermost; as the cold wind that blows with it searches his body. Eyes that an hour before had sparkled over the wine--for we had sat late and drunk to the King, the Church, the Red Cockade, and M. d'Artois--grew thoughtful; men who, a little before, had shown flushed faces, shivered as they peered into the mist, and drew their cloaks more closely round them; and if the man was there, who regarded the issue of the day with perfect indifference, he was not of those near me.