"Then wait—come in here," he said, drawing her into a little anteroom. He ran back up the stairs and burst into the room he had just left, with an imprecation.
"Their Majesties have flashed in the pan," he said to the gentlemen who crowded about him. "'Tis no use to wait longer. D'Angrémont is taken. You, Monciel and Favernay, set out instantly to intercept Marbois's regiment and turn it back to Compiègne. You will go back with the troops and report to General de Lafayette what has happened. As for you, gentlemen," he says to the officers of the Guard, "not being needed here longer, you had best lead your men back with all speed to Paris to guard the palace. The attack is for to-night."
Almost before he had finished speaking the little company had vanished which it had taken such secrecy and courage and fidelity to call together; the great plan was overthrown which had taken such daring and patience and wealth to set afoot. Timidity and bad faith had, in a moment, destroyed what had taken so many weeks to build up, and for the future calamities the King and Queen of France were to bear, they had only themselves to thank.
Calvert ran down the stairs again quickly to the anteroom, where the boyish figure in the long cloak awaited him.
"Come," he said, briefly, and, ordering a fresh horse for the rider, whose mount was weary, almost without a word the two galloped back together under the fading stars to the city of tumult and horror and crime. And as they raced forward in silence, a thousand hopes and fears crowded in upon Calvert's mind, but he put them steadily from him, trying to think but of the King and Queen and if there might yet be help for them or service to render. Only as he looked at the pale face beside him, at the blue eyes, tired and strained now, a mad wonder would steal over him that she had done this thing. And with this wonder tugging at his heart and brain they pressed onward with all speed. They entered Paris as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to redden the sky, and in this rosy morning glow the haggard faces of the multitudes of men and women pacing the streets—for who could sleep during that awful night?—looked more haggard and wretched than ever before. Bands of armed ruffians marched through the streets from all sections of the city. 'Twas plain that some movement of importance was going forward.
The two riders made their way as quickly as possible past the Place du
Carrousel, where Calvert could see the faithful Swiss regiment at their
post, over the Pont Royal and so to the Faubourg St. Germain and the
American Legation.
"Mr. Morris's house is the only safe place in all this mad city, I think," he said to Adrienne. "I will leave you in his care while I go and see what has befallen the King and Queen."
Early as was the hour, the Legation was all astir, and Mr. Morris himself came out to meet Calvert and Adrienne as they dismounted. He had not been to bed during the night and looked harassed and weary. He drew them into the house, where they found a large company assembled. Madame de Montmorin was there, agony and terror written on her pallid face; the old Count d'Estaing, who had fought so gallantly in America; Dillon, Madame de Flahaut, and a dozen others, who had taken refuge with the American Minister during that terrible night.
"You see!" said Mr. Morris, in a low tone, to Calvert, and indicating the little group. "They have fled for protection here, but God knows whether even this spot will afford them safety! I call you to witness, Calvert, that if my protection of these persons should become a matter of reproach to me here, or at home (and I have reason to expect it will, from what I have already experienced), I call you to witness that I have not violated the neutrality of this place by inviting them here, but I will never put them out now that they are here, let the consequences be what they may!"
"Who could believe that you could act in any other way!" said Calvert, warmly, touched by the nobility and earnestness of Mr. Morris's manner, very different from his usual cynical one. "And I am come to put another in your charge until the Queen sends for her," he went on. "She has ridden through this 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."