“At six,” said Danton.

They made their way out and found Mr. Morris’s coach.  In the carriage the courage which had sustained the young girl gave way.

Mr. Morris laid a kindly hand upon her arm.  “Be calm.  A way is found to save d’Azay, and surely it is no great trial to become an American subject,” he said, smiling a little and looking keenly at Adrienne.

“I do not know how I shall dare to ask this great sacrifice of him,” said she, in a low tone.  “True, he risked his life for d’Azay, but that is not so great a sacrifice as to marry a woman he does not love.”

“I think he does love you still,” said Mr. Morris, very gently.  “He is not like some of us—­he is not one to forget easily.  He is silent and constant.  He has told me that he loved you.”

But she only shook her head.  “I have no hope that he loves me still.”

“Shall I tell him of this strange plan, of the cruel position you find yourself in?  I can prepare him——­”

“No,” she said, in a low tone, “I—­I will see him myself and at once.”

She sat quiet and thoughtful for the rest of the drive until the coach drew up before the Legation.  After the first fear and despair had passed, a wave of happiness swept over her that made her blush and then pale as it ebbed.  Perhaps, after all, his love for her might not be dead; at all events a curious fate had brought it about that she should see him again and hear him speak and learn for herself if he loved her.  She remembered, with a sudden shock, the words she had spoken at Azay-le-Roi—­that should she change her mind it would be she who would ask him to marry her.  She could have laughed aloud with joy to think that fate had played her such a trick.  She remembered with a sort of shamed wonder the proud condescension with which she had treated him.  She felt now as if she could fling herself before him on her knees and beg him to give her back his love.  But did he still love her?  At the thought an icy pang of apprehension and fear seized her, and her heart almost stopped beating.  It was not alone her own happiness that was at stake, but a life that she held dear, too, was in the hands of one whom she had misprized, to whom she had shown no pity or tenderness.

“I will go up with you to the library, where I think we shall find Calvert, and then I will leave you,” said Mr. Morris as the coach stopped.

They went up the broad stairway together and Mr. Morris knocked at the library door.  A voice answered “Come,” and he entered, leaving Adrienne in the shadow of the archway.  A bright fire was burning on the open hearth and before it sat Calvert.  He looked ill, and his left arm and shoulder were bandaged and held in a sling.  He wore no coat—­indeed, he could get none over the bandages—­and the whiteness of his linen and the bright flame of the fire made him look very pale.  At Mr. Morris’s entrance he glanced up smiling and made an effort to go toward him.