an instant over a pile of papers upon the desk before
him, "moreover, Monsieur d'Azay is particularly wanted in Paris just
now."

"It is not his wish to leave--indeed, he knows nothing of this
application for a passport. It is by my wish and on my affairs that he
goes to England," says Adrienne, steadily, facing with courage the
malignant look of that terrible countenance. Monsieur Danton ignored
these remarks and turned to Mr. Morris.

"Receive my regrets, Monsieur, that I can do nothing in this matter. It
would give me pleasure to render any favor to an American."

"Then we must ask assistance in other quarters," says Mr. Morris, rising
abruptly, and with a show of confidence which he was far from feeling.
He had applied in the most powerful and available quarter that he knew
of, and he confessed to himself that, having failed here, he had no hope
of succeeding elsewhere.

As he and Adrienne turned to go, Bertrand, who had sat quietly by
during this short colloquy, arose and accompanied them toward the door.

"It is a pity Madame de St. Andre is not an American--is not Madame
Calvert," he says, in a low tone, and fixing a meaning look on Adrienne.
"Passports for the brother-in-law of Monsieur Calvert, the American,
were easy to obtain. It is doubly a pity," and he spoke in a still lower
tone, "since I have, on good authority, the news that Monsieur d'Azay is
to be accused of forwarding military intelligence to Monsieur de Conde
in to-morrow's session of the Assembly."

The young girl stopped and stood looking at him, transfixed with terror
and astonishment.

"What do you mean?" she says, in a frightened, hushed voice.

"This, Madame. A long time ago, when I was a soldier in America under
Lafayette, Monsieur Calvert did me a great service--he saved my life--he
was kind to me. He is the only man, the only person in the world I love,
and I have sworn to repay that debt of gratitude. I was with Monsieur,
as his servant, at Azay-le-Roi, and I guessed, Madame, what passed there
between you and him. Afterward I was with him in Paris, and I saw how he
suffered, and I swore, if the thing were ever possible, I would make you
suffer as he suffered. There is but one thing I would rather do than
make you suffer--and that is to make him happy. The passport for the
brother of Madame Calvert will be ready at six this evening and
Monsieur will be free to leave Paris. Do you understand now, Madame?"

"It is impossible," she s