s terrible night--God knows how--to give us warning
that the King and Queen have abandoned us and the great plan and have
chosen to remain at the palace. I must go to the Tuileries and find out
what has befallen their Majesties and then I will return."

"I know all," said Mr. Morris, bitterly. "I scarcely dared to hope that
their Majesties would stand by us or their promises. 'Tis as I thought,
my boy. Sacrifices and devotion, time and money have all been wasted in
their behalf. So be it! I think no power can save them now. You have
bravely done your share. Let this end it. And it were best that you
should leave Paris at once. D'Angremont has died nobly without revealing
our secrets--he was murdered within two hours of his capture--but this
is no safe place for you. Go to the Tuileries, if you will, but return
to me as soon as possible. You have lost at the palace, but I think
there is a reward waiting for you here at the Legation," he says,
smiling a little and turning away.

Scarcely had Calvert left the Legation when he heard the alarm from the
great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois--that fatal bell which had rung
in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew two hundred and twenty years
before--and almost immediately after there came the sounds of musketry
and cannonading from the direction of the palace of the Tuileries. The
attack had already begun, and Calvert thought with a thrill of horror of
the fate that awaited Beaufort and those other loyal servants of their
Majesties within the palace.

The fearful drama of that day is too well known to need repeating. On
that day Louis XVI of France passed from history and the revolution was
consummated. By the time Calvert had reached the Quai opposite the
Louvre the battle was begun, the mob was forcing its way past the
scattered National Guard, whose commander lay murdered on the steps of
the Hotel de Ville, past the stanch, true Swiss Guard, who, left without
orders, stood, martyrs at their posts, _ne sacramenti fidem fallerent_,
through the Carrousel up to the very palace itself. There, surrounded by
seven hundred loyal gentlemen, whom he was to abandon as he had
abandoned all his friends and servants, the King awaited his doom in
apathetic resignation. It was impossible to reach his Majesty or to do
aught for him, and Calvert could only look on from afar. There was no
place in that fearful scene for an American. The French at last knew
their power, had at last got the bit bet