us, pillaged the hotel Simeuse, discovered the marquis and
marchioness, who were accused of corresponding with the nation's
enemies, and delivered them to the national guards who took them to
prison, the crowd shouted, "Now for the Cinq-Cygnes!" To their minds the
Cinq-Cygnes were as guilty as other aristocrats. The brave and worthy
Monsieur de Simeuse in the endeavor to save his two sons, then eighteen
years of age, whose courage was likely to compromise them, had confided
them, a few hours before the storm broke, to their aunt, the Comtesse de
Cinq-Cygne. Two servants attached to the Simeuse family accompanied the
young men to her house. The old marquis, who was anxious that his name
should not die out, requested that what was happening might be concealed
from his sons, even in the event of dire disaster. Laurence, the only
daughter of the Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne, was then twelve years of age;
her cousins both loved her and she loved them equally. Like other twins
the Simeuse brothers were so alike that for a long while their mother
dressed them in different colors to know them apart. The first comer,
the eldest, was named Paul-Marie, the other Marie-Paul. Laurence de
Cinq-Cygne, to whom their danger was revealed, played her woman's part
well though still a mere child. She coaxed and petted her cousins and
kept them occupied until the very moment when the populace surrounded
the Cinq-Cygne mansion. The two brothers then knew their danger for the
first time, and looked at each other. Their resolution was instantly
taken; they armed their own servants and those of the Comtesse de
Cinq-Cygne, barricaded the doors, and stood guard at the windows, after
closing the wooden blinds, with the five men-servants and the Abbe
d'Hauteserre, a relative of the Cinq-Cygnes. These eight courageous
champions poured a deadly fire into the crowd. Every shot killed or
wounded an assailant. Laurence, instead of wringing her hands, loaded
the guns with extraordinary coolness, and passed the balls and powder to
those who needed them. The Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne was on her knees.

"What are you doing, mother?" said Laurence.

"I am praying," she answered, "for them and for you."

Sublime words,--said also by the mother of Godoy, prince of the Peace,
in Spain, under similar circumstances.

In a moment eleven persons were killed and lying on the ground among a
number of wounded. Such results either cool or excite a populace; either
it grows sa