irt, would have looked more like a
character in a comedy than a real live, serviceable post-boy--was
standing in carpet slippers (having divested himself of his boots of
office) harnessing three undersized gray Normandy mares to an elegant
travelling-carriage.

Hermione herself, Claribel her little sister, Mrs. Leare and the old
colored nurse got quickly in. Mrs. Leare was in tears, with her head
muffled in a yard or two of green _barege_, then the distinctive mark of
a travelling American woman. The child's-nurse had long gold ear-drops
and a head-dress of red bandanna. There was not a man of any kind with
them except the postilion. The concierge opened the gates of the
courtyard.

"Stop! stop!" I cried, and rushed down our own staircase and out of our
front door.

As I ran past their entrance a woman put a paper into my hand. I had no
time to glance at it, for the carriage had already turned into the Rue
Ponthieu. For some distance I ran after it, encountering at every step
excited groups of people, some of whom seemed to me in search of
mischief, while some had apparently come out to gather news. There were
no other carriages in the streets, and that alone enabled me to track
the one I was in chase of, for everybody I met had noticed which way it
had turned. It wound its way most deviously through by-streets to avoid
those in which paving-stones had been torn up or barricades been formed,
and the postilion made all possible speed, fearing the carriage might be
seized and detached from his horses. But the day's work was finished and
the disorders of the night were not begun.

Forced at last to slacken my speed and to take breath, I glanced at the
paper that I still held in my hand. It contained a few words from
Hermione: "Thank you for all the kindness you have tried to show us,
dear sir. My mother has heard that all the English in Paris are to be
massacred at midnight by the mob, and directs me to give you notice,
which is the reason I address this note to you and not to Amy. Mamma is
afraid of being mistaken for an Englishwoman. We have secured
post-horses and are setting out for Argenteuil, where we shall take the
railway. Again, thank you: your kindness will not be forgotten by H.
LEARE."

This note reassured me. I no longer endeavored to overtake the carriage,
but I pushed my way as fast as possible beyond the nearest barrier. Once
outside the wall of Paris, I was in the Banlieu, that zone of rascality
who