cried, suddenly starting up, "shall a man stand everything and have
no revenge? Let Madame de St. Andre take care! Let d'Azay take care!
Should you be inclined to go to their rescue, Monsieur, perhaps we may
meet again!" and with a mocking smile on his wicked, handsome face, he
flung himself out of the room.

The young man sat for a long while where St. Aulaire had left him,
pondering upon this strange meeting and the mysterious hints and threats
thrown out. He could make nothing of them, but it was clear that some
danger menaced those he loved in France, and he felt only too well
assured that St. Aulaire would stop at nothing. Indeed, it did not need
a personal and malignant enemy to bring terror and death to any in
Paris, as he knew. Terror and death were in the air. The last despatches
from the capital had told of almost inconceivable horrors being there
perpetrated. "Aristocrats in Paris must keep quiet or the aristocrats
will hang," Mr. Morris had said to him tersely one evening just before
leaving.

Suddenly an overwhelming desire to go to France, to be near Adrienne,
to avert, if humanly possible, this unknown, but, as he felt, no less
real danger, took possession of him. All the tenderness for her, which
he had hoped and believed was dying within him, revived at the thought
of the peril she was in. For himself he felt there could be no danger,
and it was possible that his standing as an American and his close
connection with the American Minister might be of service to her. But
whatever the consequences to himself--and he thought with far more dread
of the revival of his love, which the sight and near presence of her
would surely bring, than of any physical danger to himself--he felt it
to be unendurable to be so near her and yet not to be near enough to
render her aid if danger threatened. He thought of d'Azay and Beaufort
and Lafayette, of Mr. Morris, re-established there, and of all those
great and terrible events taking place, and he suddenly found himself a
thousand times more anxious to get back to Paris than he had ever been
to leave it, and wondered how he could have stayed away so long. He sat
alone in the little anteroom thinking of these things until almost the
last of the guests had gone, and then, bidding the Ambassador and
Ambassadress good-night, he, too, left, walking to his lodgings,
thinking the while of his return to Paris and the Legation, where he
felt assured he would receive a warm welco