“Then we must ask assistance in other quarters,” says Mr. Morris, rising abruptly, and with a show of confidence which he was far from feeling.  He had applied in the most powerful and available quarter that he knew of, and he confessed to himself that, having failed here, he had no hope of succeeding elsewhere.

As he and Adrienne turned to go, Bertrand, who had sat quietly by during this short colloquy, arose and accompanied them toward the door.

“It is a pity Madame de St. Andre is not an American—­is not Madame Calvert,” he says, in a low tone, and fixing a meaning look on Adrienne.  “Passports for the brother-in-law of Monsieur Calvert, the American, were easy to obtain.  It is doubly a pity,” and he spoke in a still lower tone, “since I have, on good authority, the news that Monsieur d’Azay is to be accused of forwarding military intelligence to Monsieur de Conde in to-morrow’s session of the Assembly.”

The young girl stopped and stood looking at him, transfixed with terror and astonishment.

“What do you mean?” she says, in a frightened, hushed voice.

“This, Madame.  A long time ago, when I was a soldier in America under Lafayette, Monsieur Calvert did me a great service—­he saved my life—­he was kind to me.  He is the only man, the only person in the world I love, and I have sworn to repay that debt of gratitude.  I was with Monsieur, as his servant, at Azay-le-Roi, and I guessed, Madame, what passed there between you and him.  Afterward I was with him in Paris, and I saw how he suffered, and I swore, if the thing were ever possible, I would make you suffer as he suffered.  There is but one thing I would rather do than make you suffer—­and that is to make him happy.  The passport for the brother of Madame Calvert will be ready at six this evening and Monsieur will be free to leave Paris.  Do you understand now, Madame?”

“It is impossible,” she says, faintly, leaning for support on Mr. Morris, who stood by, unspeakably astonished at the strange scene taking place.

“Impossible?  Then I am sorry,” he says.  “Frankly, there is but one way, Madame, for you to obtain the passport you wish, and that is by becoming an American subject, the wife of Monsieur Calvert.  I can interest myself in the matter only on those conditions.  I have but to mention to Danton my good reasons for serving so close a relation of Monsieur Calvert, and he will be inclined to interest himself in obtaining the freedom of Monsieur d’Azay—­for such it really is.  Should he still be disinclined to serve a friend who has stood him well”—­and his face darkened ominously and a sinister smile came to his lips—­“I have but to recall to his mind a certain scene which took place in the Cafe de l’Ecole some years ago in which Monsieur Calvert was an actor, and I can answer for it that Monsieur d’Azay leaves Paris to-night.  Shall I do these things or not?  If not, I think ’tis sure that, let Madame and Monsieur Morris apply to whom they may, Danton and I will see to it that no passport for Monsieur d’Azay is granted.  Is it still impossible?” he asks, with an insolent smile.