work and checked him. Should he leave his post, what would become of
the Queen? Des Huttes during the moment of this quick reflection, was
brained from behind by a man in a red cap, and fell, pierced with
countless pike-wounds. His eyes still moved when the rag-picker Gougeon
ran in, and, placing his foot on the chest, chopped the head from the
body with blows of an axe. In an instant it was stuck on the point of a
pike and triumphantly carried away.

Lecour, his brain on fire, drew back and steadied himself to retain
presence of mind.

An instant after he could hear the roar of the mob as it surged up and
the voice of Miomandre shouting to them, "My friends, you love your
King."

They rushed on Miomandre and tried to kill him as they had done Des
Huttes; but he was quick, and springing to the embrasure of a window,
defended himself, while the yelling booty-seekers, athirst for
easier-seized treasures, turned to press forward into the apartment of
the Queen. The attack came quickly, but Germain shut the door in time
and locked it, and thanks to the perfect make of the lock its bolt held
out against the onset. That could not long be, however, as he knew the
panels must give way before their axes.

"Stand firm, du Repaire!" he cried, and ran across the hall to where de
Varicourt was guarding the door of the Queen's antechamber. Before
passing in, he grasped the hand of the devoted Bodyguard, who understood
that his hour had come, crossed himself, and answered with a look of
unalterable devotion.

Germain closed the door of the antechamber lovingly and regretfully,
locked and bolted it.

The howling pack were but a few minutes in breaking in. He could hear
their shouts of triumph and the shameless cries of the women against
Marie Antoinette.

Astonished at finding themselves in the inside of the Palace, the first
comers were dumbfounded, but a red-nosed beggar in a red cap immediately
sprang towards de Varicourt, shouting, "This way to the Austrian!"

"Vive la Nation!" roared men who were looting the tapestry from the
benches.

"Death to the Sow!" was the shriek of Wife Gougeon.

"Death to the aristocrat!" shouted the Admiral with a devilish laugh,
leading the rush on de Varicourt.

The latter defended himself with all his strength, first with his
clubbed musket, then with his sword. For some seconds he kept the
murderers at bay, and it seemed to du Repaire, looking eagerly across
the hall, that after all th