to deliver them to the king; and that he yet
waits unable to see his Majesty.'

'How--what--why has he not sent up his despatches?'

'He had none, sir; he was the bearer of a verbal message from the Duc de
Bassompierre.'

'Impossible, sir; none could have dared to assume this responsibility.
Who told you this story?'

'I was present, sir, when the officer arrived--spoke with him--and heard
M. de Breze say, "You can, perhaps, have an audience to-morrow."'

'He deserves the Bastille for this!'

'He would have deserved it, sir, yesterday.' 'How do you mean, sir?'

'That there is no Bastille to-day. The officer I mentioned saw it
carried by the populace as he left Paris: the garrison are all cut to
pieces.'

With something like a cry of agony, half-smothered by an effort, the
Prince hurried from the room.

While the clock was yet striking, the sentinel in relief arrived, and
Gerald was released from duty. As he wended his way along through room
after room, he was struck by the air of silence and desertion around;
nowhere were to be seen the groups of lounging courtiers and 'officiers
de service.' A few inferior members of the household rose and saluted
him, and even they wore something ominous and sad in their look, as
though evil tidings were abroad.

A light, soft rain was falling as Gerald left the palace toward the
pavilion, where Count Dillon's quarters were established. He knew it
was impossible that the Count could yet have returned from Paris, but
somehow he found himself repairing to the spot without well knowing why.

As he drew nigh he perceived a light in the little salon, and could
distinguish the figure of a man writing at the table. Curious to learn
if the Count had unexpectedly turned back, Gerald opened the door and
entered. The person at the table turned quickly about, and to his utter
confusion Gerald saw it was Monsieur.

'Come in, come in; you will, perhaps, spare me some writing.' cried
he, in an easy, familiar tone: 'you may indeed read what I have just
written.' and so saying he handed him a paper with these lines:

'Dear Count Dillon,--Give me the earliest and fullest information with
respect to a young countryman of yours, Fitzgerald, called "L'Ecossais."
May we employ him on a mission of secrecy and importance? It is of
consequence--that is, it were far better--that the person intrusted with
our commands were not a Frenchman----'

The Prince had but written so much as Gerald ente