As the days went on, Jean was drawn by an irresistible fascination more and more into the society of "the thin young man," as he often spoke of him to Mère Clouet and Yvonne. One evening, as he ran up the stairs of Rue Cléry, number 548, Napoleon's first greeting was: "I've something to tell you that will interest you, Jean! I've been to the Jacobins again. There's a bloody insurrection planned for August tenth! They are going to mob the palace, dethrone the King, seize the Dauphin, and make all the royal family prisoners. Santerre is at the head of it, and Danton, of course, at the bottom! You'd better look sharp for your royal friends!" "Oh!" said Jean thankfully, "I'm so glad you warned me. I shall be there, at least, and see what I can do to help them! I can't of course do much, but--who knows!" "But, see here, my lad," answered Bonaparte, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, "you must not go alone! You are hardly more than a child yet, and these are perilous times. I'd be anxious for your safety. Promise me that you will not go without me! Together, we may be a protection for each other." Jean gave his word, deeply touched that his new friend should exhibit such thoughtfulness for his welfare. * * * * * Meanwhile, gloomy days had ensued for Louis Charles, royal Dauphin of France. His little garden where he longed to dig among the flower-beds and romp with Moufflet was forbidden him. Once only since the hateful day of June twentieth, he had gone there accompanied by his mother. But the shouts and threats of the crowd behind the fence, quickly drove them into the palace again for safety. Distrust and suspicion were in the very air! For the people of Paris, like a sullen, angry dog that has obtained a bone only to have it snatched away again, felt that they had been defeated of their purpose on the day they besieged the Tuileries. They were laying dark plans to repeat the expedition, which this time, they vowed, should not fail. Just at present they were only lying in wait till the time should be fully ripe. The Dauphin roamed from room to room in the castle, pressed his face to the windows and gazed with envy at the Park, brilliant with sunshine, and at the throngs of common people who were free to come and go as they pleased. He wondered whether Jean and Yvonne ever came to the garden now. Once he thought he distinguished the boy among the strolling crowds but he could not be sure. The King and Queen were preoccupied and sad. His aunt, Madame Elizabeth, was much with them, and had little time to give to his amusement. Even his sister sometimes forgot to romp and frolic with him as had been her wont. To all it was a season of breathless suspense. And then the fatal day arrived. On the night of August ninth, after his supper, the Queen went to the Dauphin's room where he was being put to bed, to kiss him good-night. Tears stood in her eyes as she clasped him more closely than usual.