“Where are we?” cried the Marquise de Longueville. “I thought we were in the Place de Vendôme, and I find myself in the Faubourg St. Antoine!”
“Does my Lady know that her friend and confidante is a Girondist of the first water?” said an ex-Minister.
“Who could have suspected the spirit of Marat under the mask of Ninon de l'Enclos?” muttered Villemart.
“What is this I hear, dearest Kate?” cried the Duchesse de Mirecourt, as she drew the young girl's arm within her own. “They tell me you have terrified every one,--that Madame de Soissons has gone home ill, and the old Chevalier de Gardonnes has sent for his confessor.”
“I have been very rash, very foolish,” said Kate, as a deadly pallor came over her; “but I could bear it no longer. Besides, what does it matter? They 'll hear worse, and bear it too, before three days are over.”
“Then it is all true?” cried the Duchess, eagerly. “You told Villemart that when the Government spoke with grape-shot, the people replied with the guillotine!”
“Not exactly,” said Kate, with a faint smile. “But are they all going?”
“Of course they are. You have frightened them almost to death; and I know you only meant it for jest,--one of those little half-cruel jests you were ever fond of. Come with me and say so,--come, dearest.” And she drew her, as she spoke, into the crowded salon, now already a scene of excited leave-taking. The brilliant company, however, fell back as they came forward, and an expression of mingled dismay and compassion was turned towards the young Duchess, who with a kind of heroic courage drew Kate's arm closer within her own.
“I am come to make an explanation, messieurs et mesdames,” said the Duchess, with her most captivating smile; “pray vouchsafe me a hearing. My friend--my dearest, best friend here--has, in a moment of sportive pleasantry, suffered herself to jest--”
“It was a jest, then?” broke in Madame de Longueville, haughtily.
“Just as that is,” replied Kate, lifting her hand and pointing in the direction whence came a terrible crash of artillery, followed by the rattle of musketry.
“Let us go,--let us away!” was now heard in affrighted accents on every side; and the splendid assemblage, with less of ceremony than might be expected, began to depart. Lady Dorothea alone was ignorant of what had occurred, and witnessed this sudden leave-taking with amazement. “You are surely not afraid?” said she to one; “there is nothing serious in all this.”