or of rumours affecting the fortunes and lives of those whom
most of us had known as pleasant hosts, receiving us with peaceful
welcome in their magnificent houses. Of course, there was sin enough and
suffering enough behind the scenes; but we English visitors to Paris had
seen little or nothing of that,--and I had sometimes thought, indeed, how
even death seemed loth to choose his victims out of that brilliant throng
whom I had known. Madame de Crequy's one boy lived; while three out of
my six were gone since we had met! I do not think all lots are equal,
even now that I know the end of her hopes; but I do say that whatever our
individual lot is, it is our duty to accept it, without comparing it with
that of others.

"The times were thick with gloom and terror. 'What next?' was the
question we asked of every one who brought us news from Paris. Where
were these demons hidden when, so few years ago, we danced and feasted,
and enjoyed the brilliant salons and the charming friendships of Paris?

"One evening, I was sitting alone in Saint James's Square; my lord off at
the club with Mr. Fox and others: he had left me, thinking that I should
go to one of the many places to which I had been invited for that
evening; but I had no heart to go anywhere, for it was poor Urian's
birthday, and I had not even rung for lights, though the day was fast
closing in, but was thinking over all his pretty ways, and on his warm
affectionate nature, and how often I had been too hasty in speaking to
him, for all I loved him so dearly; and how I seemed to have neglected
and dropped his dear friend Clement, who might even now be in need of
help in that cruel, bloody Paris. I say I was thinking reproachfully of
all this, and particularly of Clement de Crequy in connection with Urian,
when Fenwick brought me a note, sealed with a coat-of-arms I knew well,
though I could not remember at the moment where I had seen it. I puzzled
over it, as one does sometimes, for a minute or more, before I opened the
letter. In a moment I saw it was from Clement de Crequy. 'My mother is
here,' he said: 'she is very ill, and I am bewildered in this strange
country. May I entreat you to receive me for a few minutes?' The bearer
of the note was the woman of the house where they lodged. I had her
brought up into the anteroom, and questioned her myself, while my
carriage was being brought round. They had arrived in London a fortnight
or so before: she had n