The two riders made their way as quickly as possible past the Place du Carrousel, where Calvert could see the faithful Swiss regiment at their post, over the Pont Royal and so to the Faubourg St. Germain and the American Legation.

“Mr. Morris’s house is the only safe place in all this mad city, I think,” he said to Adrienne.  “I will leave you in his care while I go and see what has befallen the King and Queen.”

Early as was the hour, the Legation was all astir, and Mr. Morris himself came out to meet Calvert and Adrienne as they dismounted.  He had not been to bed during the night and looked harassed and weary.  He drew them into the house, where they found a large company assembled.  Madame de Montmorin was there, agony and terror written on her pallid face; the old Count d’Estaing, who had fought so gallantly in America; Dillon, Madame de Flahaut, and a dozen others, who had taken refuge with the American Minister during that terrible night.

“You see!” said Mr. Morris, in a low tone, to Calvert, and indicating the little group.  “They have fled for protection here, but God knows whether even this spot will afford them safety!  I call you to witness, Calvert, that if my protection of these persons should become a matter of reproach to me here, or at home (and I have reason to expect it will, from what I have already experienced), I call you to witness that I have not violated the neutrality of this place by inviting them here, but I will never put them out now that they are here, let the consequences be what they may!”

“Who could believe that you could act in any other way!” said Calvert, warmly, touched by the nobility and earnestness of Mr. Morris’s manner, very different from his usual cynical one.  “And I am come to put another in your charge until the Queen sends for her,” he went on.  “She has ridden through this terrible night—­God knows how—­to give us warning that the King and Queen have abandoned us and the great plan and have chosen to remain at the palace.  I must go to the Tuileries and find out what has befallen their Majesties and then I will return.”

“I know all,” said Mr. Morris, bitterly.  “I scarcely dared to hope that their Majesties would stand by us or their promises.  ’Tis as I thought, my boy.  Sacrifices and devotion, time and money have all been wasted in their behalf.  So be it!  I think no power can save them now.  You have bravely done your share.  Let this end it.  And it were best that you should leave Paris at once.  D’Angremont has died nobly without revealing our secrets—­he was murdered within two hours of his capture—­but this is no safe place for you.  Go to the Tuileries, if you will, but return to me as soon as possible.  You have lost at the palace, but I think there is a reward waiting for you here at the Legation,” he says, smiling a little and turning away.

Scarcely had Calvert left the Legation when he heard the alarm from the great bell of St. Germain l’Auxerrois—­that fatal bell which had rung in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew two hundred and twenty years before—­and almost immediately after there came the sounds of musketry and cannonading from the direction of the palace of the Tuileries.  The attack had already begun, and Calvert thought with a thrill of horror of the fate that awaited Beaufort and those other loyal servants of their Majesties within the palace.