as the "Ca Ira" beats resounded above
him, his own squatting body began to sway with the music in a
heightened absurdity. Picard had run off. He was convinced these people
were crazier than any of those in the mad cells of Salpetriere....

[Illustration: JACQUES FORGET-NOT, SWEARS VENGEANCE ON THE FAMILY OF THE
DE VAUDREYS. THE COUNT DE LINIERES AND THE CHEVALIER DE VAUDREY HEAR HIS
THREATS.]

Long since Henriette had evaded the worse sights and sounds by
creeping as best she could along the side walls of the buildings,
watching her chance to get away from the revelers. Again, at the
street corner, another swirl passed over her, knocking her down.
Ruefully she picked herself up again.

The throng had passed by completely, leaving but a drunken fool
prancing here and there, or a scant winrow of half-prostrate figures.
Henriette ran with all her might to the only refuge she knew--her old
faubourg lodgings.

The middle-aged landlady who in days agone had fetched the guard
to subdue Danton's would-be assassins, and who likewise had
resented Robespierre's prying as to the identity of Henriette's
visitor, studied the girl at first a bit quizzically. Released
from Salpetriere, eh? Was she the same sweet, pure Henriette she
knew? Yes, the little Girard--la petite Girard--looked to be the
same hard-working, respectable seamstress person of yore, only that
she seemed very weak and about to collapse!

The landlady folded Henriette within one stout arm.

She pointed with her free hand to the bedchamber immediately above.

"Your old room up there awaits you," she remarked kindly. "As soon as
you have recovered strength a bit, I have no doubt the old sewing job
will be yours too!"

* * * * *

... Jacques-Forget-Not and his men arrived too late at the Prefect's
palace for complete vengeance on the de Vaudreys.

Around the historic Fourteenth of July, there was a pell-mell exodus
of aristocrats from the city. A panic-stricken servant brought the
Count de Linieres tidings of the people's victory.

"Fly, monsieur! Fly, madame!" he cried. "The troops are overthrown,
the Bastille surrounded, before nightfall the mob will surely attack
here and try to kill your excellencies. Fly, I implore you!"

Other messengers confirmed the news, and thus it happened that the
erstwhile proud and arrogant Minister of Police who but yesterday had
ruled France was reduced to making the most hurried pr