"Well, I think it is you who are suffering at this moment."
"Why?"
"You have not yet given us any verses."
"I will sing you one this moment," said Lorin,—
"Phœbus, in the midst of the Graces,
The lyre in his hand still retained,
Till following of Venus the traces,
T was lost, and could not be regained."
"Always ready with a quatrain," said Maurice, laughing.
"And you will have to be contented with it, as it is now necessary to turn our attention to more serious affairs."
"Has anything new occurred, then?" said Maurice, anxiously.
"I am ordered on guard at the Conciergerie."
"At the Conciergerie!" said Geneviève, "near the queen?"