tant, and make your fortune."

I stared at this sudden explosion of the doctor's rhetoric; but I should
have remembered, that he was under the double inspiration of new-born
love and reluctant rhyme.

Varnhorst at length attempted to walk as far as the ramparts, and I was
enjoying the pride of being able to exhibit my patient to the garrison;
when, just as we were issuing from the long and chill corridors into the
fresh air and sunshine, I observed the commandant coming towards me with
a peculiar air of gravity, attended by several of his officers. Bowing
to Varnhorst with military etiquette, he took him aside and communicated
to him a few words, which made his pale countenance look paler still.
"My friend is brave," was the Prussian's reply, turning a glance to
where I stood. "I have seen him in the field. I am satisfied that,
wherever he is, he will do his duty."

The commandant now walked up to me, and with an air of embarrassment put
a sealed letter into my hands. It was from the minister of foreign
affairs, and was marked _secret and immediate_. I opened it, and I shall
not say with what feelings I saw--an order for my attendance at the
office of the minister, signed ROBESPIERRE.

If the grim majesty of death had put his signature in person to this
order, it would not have borne a more mortal aspect. It was a pang! yet
the pang did not continue long. Inevitable things are not the hardest to
be borne. At all events, there was no time for pondering on the subject.
The carriage which had brought the order and the government _huissier_,
was at the gate. Varnhorst gave me one grasp of his honest hand as I
left him; the commandant wished me "good fortune." I hurried into the
carriage, and we flew on the road to Paris.

On reaching the barrier, we turned off to the quarter of the Luxembourg,
and stopped at the gate of a moderate-sized house, where my conductor
and I entered. I was shown into a small and simple room; where I found a
man advanced in years, and of a striking aspect. He said not a word; I
had no inclination to speak. The one or two hesitating syllables which I
addressed to him were answered only by a bow and a look, as if he did
not understand the language; and I awaited the approach of the terror of
France, the horror of Europe, during half an hour, which seemed to me
interminable. The door at last opened, a valet came in, and the name of
"Robespierre" thrilled through every fibre; but, instead of the fr