The light baggage, therefore, was packed, and they were waiting the word of command from the pilot, when a commissary, from the Convention, arrived, to purify, he said, and new-organize the town, near which, in a villa that had been a part of her marriage-portion, the Marchioness and her brother then resided. To this villa the commissary made his first visit. The Bishop, by this agent of the inhuman Robespierre, was immediately seized; and, while his unhappy sister, and nearly adoring ward, were vainly kneeling at the feet of his condemner,--not accuser! to supplicate mercy for innocence,--not for guilt! the persons who were rifling the Bishop, shouted out, with savage joy, that they had found a proof of his being a traitor, in a note in his pocket-book, which was clearly a bribe from the enemy to betray the country. The commissary, who, having often been employed as a spy, had a competent knowledge of modern languages, which he spoke intelligibly, though with vulgar phraseology and accent; took the paper, and read it without difficulty. It was the promissory note of the old Earl Melbury. He eagerly demanded the Citoyenne Julie; swearing that, if six thousand pounds were to be got by marrying, he would marry without delay. He ordered her, therefore, to accompany him forthwith to the mayoralty. At her indignant refusal, he scoffingly laughed; but, upon her positive resistance, ordered her into custody. This, also, moved her not; she only begged to be confined in the same prison with the Bishop. Coarsely mocking her attachment for the priest, and holding her by the chin, he swore that he would marry her, and her six thousand pounds. A million of deaths, could she die them, she resolutely replied, she would suffer in preference. Her priest, then, he said, should away to the guillotine; though she had only to marry, and sign the promissory-note for the dower, to set the parson at liberty. Filled with horrour, she wrung her hands, and stood suspended; while the Marchioness, with anguish indescribable, and a look that made a supplication that no voice could pronounce, fell upon her neck, gasping for breath, and almost fainting. 'Ah, Madam!' Juliet cried, 'what is your will? I am yours,--entirely yours! command me!'-- The Marchioness could not speak; but her sighs, her groans, rather, were more eloquent than any words. 'Bind the priest!' the commissary cried. 'His trial is over; bind the traitor, and take him to the cell for execution.' The Marchioness sunk to the floor. 'No!' cried Juliet, 'bind him not! Touch not his reverend and revered person!--Give me the paper! I will sign what you please! I will go whither you will!' 'Come, then,' cried the commissary, 'to the mayoralty.' Juliet covered her face, but moved towards the door.