t devoted
children. The Marquise de Beaufort had cried: "Vive le Roi!" They cried:

"Vive la Republique!"

CHAPTER XII.

ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL.

A fortnight had elapsed since Dolores first entered the Conciergerie. In
the many trying experiences through which she had been obliged to pass,
she had been sustained by the hope of a speedy meeting with Philip. She
dare not believe that Coursegol's efforts, or even the order of release
which he had obtained through Vauquelas, could save them; but it seemed
to her if she could only see her lover once more before she died, she
could mount the scaffold without a regret.

One morning, on entering the public hall, she saw Coursegol behind the
grating in the corridor. She hastened to him, and he whispered through
the bars that Philip was to be brought to the Conciergerie the next day.
Dolores was overcome with joy at this news.

"As soon as M. Philip arrives here," added Coursegol; "we will arrange
to make use of the order of release and to remove you from prison."

"Will that be possible?" inquired Dolores.

"Certainly. All prisoners who are set at liberty are released by order
of the Committee; and the order given me by Vauquelas is a fac-simile of
those always used."

"With this difference, however: the names of those to be released have
not yet been inserted," objected Dolores.

"What of that?" exclaimed Coursegol, "I will insert the names myself,
and then the order will be in favor of citoyen and citoyenne
Chamondrin."

"But if we should succeed in escaping from this prison, Coursegol, where
shall we go?"

"To Bridoul's at first, where you will be safe for at least twenty-four
hours. From there I shall conduct you to a cottage in the Forest of
Chevreuse, some little distance from Versailles. The place is almost a
wilderness; no one will ever think of looking for us there."

Coursegol's words made a deep impression upon the girl's mind. After
resigning herself to an eternal separation from the object of her love;
after trampling her own heart and all her hopes of happiness under foot,
and just as her peace, her future, her very life itself seemed
irretrievably lost, hope sprang up from the ruins like some gorgeous
flower and unfolded its brilliant petals one by one before her wondering
and enraptured eyes.

"And Antoinette?" some one asks, "Had Dolores forgotten Antoinette's
right to Philip's devotion?" No; the reader knows how heroically Dolores
had