"It is the thought of his own death," was the interpretation that flashed upon her.
A rap was heard.
"Come in, Dominique," said he.
The list of inmates affixed to the front of the house would have explained Germain's disguise. It read—
"The Citizen Dominique Levesque, boarding-house keeper.
"The Citizeness Marie Levesque, his wife.
"The Citizeness Montmorency, sempstress."
"Citizeness Levesque" was sometimes observed about the house by the neighbours, but the family, like many others, cultivated no intercourse. Wearing the garb only whenever absolutely necessary, he took part each day in whatever work was obtained to support the household, and at night went out to keep track of what was happening.
At the time of the guillotining of the Queen, he was restrained with difficulty from throwing his life away in an insane rush upon the murderers.
"My Lady Baroness," Dominique said, clinging to all the old delicate form of his respect—for the faithful servitor was as chivalrous as any knight—"I regret to report that there is a new law compelling everybody to take out cards of civism, as they call them, at the Hôtel de Ville. During the trouble at our door a few moments ago, some of the Sans-culottes threatened to return. I consider it absolutely necessary that Madame and I should go at once and obtain these credentials."