?"

"Is it arrest? My dear lad----" he began as La Mothe nodded, but
Molembrais again interrupted him.

"We have no time now. Where is the King?"

"In his usual lodgings."

"Mort-dieu! monsieur, how should I know his usual lodgings? Am I of
Valmy?"

"Monsieur, a little civility would do you no harm."

"Monsieur, once I have seen the King I will be as civil or as uncivil
as you please."

Turning on his heel Saint-Pierre beckoned to an under officer. "Pass
these gentlemen to Captain Leslie: he is on duty in the King's
ante-room. Don't fear, La Mothe, I will send word to Monsieur de
Commines without delay. He is anxious about you, for he has been
enquiring at the gates once this morning already."

"Monsieur de Saint-Pierre, there is a lady behind us; she has ridden
all night----"

"A lady?" Saint-Pierre's hand fell on his shoulder in a kindly touch.
"Not old enough to be your mother, I'll wager! Don't fret, mon gars, I
have been young myself," and with that La Mothe had to be content.

Motioning to La Mothe to precede him, Molembrais took up his position
last of the three. Now that he was within its walls the indefinable
terror of Valmy possessed him in spite of his recklessness. It was not
that he repented, not that his purpose was less bitterly determined,
not that he had grown coward or would have turned back had return been
possible, but the chill of the shadows through which the path lay crept
deeper and deeper. In part it was a dread of failure, in part the
inexpressible revolt of nature against an inevitable sacrifice, in part
the sinister suggestions inseparable from Valmy itself.

And how could he escape from that suggestiveness? There, where the
denser gloom sloped from the roof across a paved courtyard, Guy's
scaffold might have stood; through that doorway, dimly outlined against
the greyness, Guy might have looked upon the light for the last time;
these obscure, uncertain windows, blind eyes in the slowly waning
night, might have seen the axe fall; down these cellar stairs might
have been carried--but they had swung to the left into a narrow court,
and before them were the King's lodgings. No! it was not that he
repented, not that he had turned coward, but would fate and
circumstances trick him of his revenge at the last?

There are some men whom the dread of failure chills to the heart when
the crisis calls them, and Marc de Molembrais was one of them. He had
no definite plan of e