The servant departed, and Law, left alone, sat silent and motionless, buried in thought.  Now and again his head sank forward, like that of one who has received a deep hurt.  But again he drew himself up sternly, and so remained, not leaving his seat nor turning toward the window, beyond which could now be heard the sound of shouting, and cries whose confused and threatening tones might have given ground for the gravest apprehension.  At length the Swiss again reported, much agitated and shaken from his ordinary self-control.

“Monsieur,” said he, “come.  I have at last the coach at the door.  Hasten, Monsieur; a crowd is gathering.  Indeed, we may meet violence.”

Law seemed not to hear him, but sat for a time, his head still bowed, his eyes gazing straight before him.

“But, Monsieur,” again broke in the Swiss, anxiously, “if I may interrupt, there is need to hasten.  There will be a mob.  Our guard is gone.”

“So,” said Law.  “They were afraid?”

“Surely.  They fled forthwith when they heard the people below crying out at the house.  They are indeed threatening death to yourself.  They cry that they will burn the house—­that should you appear, they will have your blood at once.”

“And are you not afraid?” asked Law.

“I am here.  Does not Monsieur fear for himself?”

Law shrugged his shoulders.  “There are many of them, and we are but two,” said he.  “For yourself, go you down the back way and care for your own safety.  I will go out the front and meet these good people.  Are we quite ready for the journey?”

“Quite ready, as you have directed.”

“Have you the two valises, with the one change of clothing?”

“They are here.”

“And have you the fifty louis, as I stated?”

“Here in the purse.”

“And I think you have also the single diamond.”

“It is here.”

“Then,” said Law, “let us go.”

He rose, and scarce looking behind him, even to see that his orders to the servant had been obeyed, he strode down the vast stairway of the great hotel, past many precious works of art, between walls hung with richest tapestries and noble paintings.  The click of his heel on a chance bit of exposed marble here and there echoed hollow, as though indeed the master of the palace had been abandoned by all his people.  The great building was silent, empty.

“What!  Are you, then, here?” he said, seeing the servant had disobeyed his instructions and was following close behind him.  He alone out of those scores of servants, those hundreds of fawning nobles, those thousands of sycophant souls who had but lately cringed before him, now accompanied the late master of France as he turned to leave the house in which he no longer held authority.

Without, but the door’s thickness from where he stood, there arose a tumult of sound, shouts, cries, imprecations, entreaties, as though the walls of some asylum for the unfortunate had broken away and allowed its inmates to escape unrestrained, irreclaimable, impossible to control.