M. le Prince de Condé too had gone off to Antwerp in a huge barouche, having under his care the treasure and jewels of the crown hastily collected three months ago at the Tuileries.
In every open space a number of prisoners were being guarded by mixed patrols of Dutch, Belgian or German soldiers, and their cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" which they reiterated with unshakable obstinacy roused the ire of their captors, and provoked many a savage blow, and many a broken head.
But St. Genis did not pause to look on these sights: he had not the strength to stand up in the midst of these confused masses of terror-driven men and women, and to shout to them that they were fools—that all their panic must be turned to joy, their lamentations to shouts of jubilation. News of victory was bound to spread through the city within the next hour, and he himself longed only to see Crystal, to reassure her as to his own safety, to see the light of happiness kindled in her eyes by the news which he brought. He had not the strength for more.
It was old Jeanne who opened the door at the lodgings in the rue du Marais when Maurice finally rang the bell there.
"M. le Marquis!" she exclaimed. "Oh! but you are ill."
"Only very tired and weak, Jeanne," he said. "It has been an awful day."
"Ah! but M. le Comte will be pleased!"
"And Mademoiselle Crystal?" asked Maurice with a smile which had in it all the self-confidence of the accepted lover.
"Mademoiselle Crystal will be happy too," said Jeanne. "She has been so unhappy, so desperately anxious all day."
"Can I see her?"