"Nay, Duchesse, mine is the discourtesy, though a most unintentional one. I must rely upon the kindness of my friends to forgive it me."
Aline de Rochambeau walked after her cousin, but participated in none of the farewells. She felt cold and very bewildered; her only instinct to keep close to the one protector she knew. To stay behind never occurred to her. In the vestibule Madame de Montargis paused.
"Dupont!" she called sharply, and the stout major-domo of the establishment emerged from a group of frightened servants.
"Madame—" Dupont's knees were shaking, but he contrived a presentable bow.
Madame's eyes had lost their smile, but the scorn remained. She spoke aloud.
"Discharge those three fools who ran in just now, and see that in future I have lackeys who know their place," and with that she walked on again. All the way down the grand staircase the noise of the mob pursued them. In the vestibule more of the Guard waited with an officer, and yet another Commissioner. The three men in authority conferred for a moment, and then the Commissioners hurried their prisoners to a side door where a fiacre stood waiting. They passed out, and behind them the door was shut and locked. Then, for the first time, Madame seemed to be aware of her cousin's presence.
"Aline—little fool!—go back—but on the instant—"
"Ma cousine——"
"Go back, I say. Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, what folly!"
The girl put her hand on the door, tried it, and said, in a low, shaking voice: