“There was about the boarding-house a man charged with all the rough work, by name Jaquemart, a fellow that could do everything—­but the most atrocious of countenances.  ‘The sight of that man makes me sick,’ said Albert; ‘I am sure he will end in something tragic.’”

“One day, shortly after we went to the pension, Jaquemart was bringing in a load of wood, when my brother drove at the speed of his horse into the entrance.  He saw the man had a burden that would hardly allow him to get out of the way in time—­cried ’Gare!’—­perceived that his efforts were in vain—­and pulled back his horse so sharply as to run much risk of wounding the animal, and, indeed, of being thrown out himself, owing to the extraordinary elevation of the wiski.  Jaquemart, however, escaped by this means with a scratch on his leg; his eyes were good, he saw what Albert had done to master his horse, and vowed gratitude.”

“The 31st of August the man had nothing to do about the house, yet he kept lounging at the gate, or in the court, all day long.  It was late ere Albert came—­he had been waiting for him, and whispered, as he alighted, ‘Stay here to-night to take care of your sisters—­don’t go home.’  Albert looked at him with astonishment; he had, indeed, perceived symptoms of some commotion, but fancied, as most of Paris did, that it would be directed against the Temple.  ‘What is your meaning?’ said he.  ’I entreat you to stay here—­you will be near your sisters; and if there be need for another hand, mine shall not be far off—­very well!—­we shall be there.’  Albert pressed him with questions, but could extract nothing; and after giving the man some money, persisted; in returning home as usual.”

“All know the frightful story of the day after this.  Albert’s anxiety for us makes him brave every danger, and he comes to us again.  The first person he sees at our door is Jaquemart, in the costume of the most atrocious of bandits; our ladies had not dared to bid him go away, but his appearance made them tremble.  ’I did not desire you to come hither, but to stay here,’ he said; ‘why have I not been obeyed?’ ’Why do you speak so—­was this house particularly menaced?’ ’I know nothing of that—­at such a moment one should fear everything.’”

“We heard groans, weeping, all Paris had not been at the massacre.  It was late.  They pressed Albert to stay, but he would not.  He promised, however, to come back next morning.——­That day he was obliged to stay at home till about three o’clock, arranging and burning papers.  He then came out to visit us, and found himself in the midst of crowds of men, drunken and bloody; many were naked to the waist, their breasts covered with blood.  They carried fragments of clothing on their pikes and sabres—­their faces were inflamed, their eyes haggard, the whole scene hideous.  These groups became more and more frequent and numerous as he advanced.  In mortal anxiety for us, he determined