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At the sight of the windows being opened, another man seemed to detach himself from the wall and come toward the first man.

“There’s nothing to be done with this woman,” said the first to the second. “She is mad.”

“No, she’s a mother,” said the second, dragging his companion away.

Seeing them walking away, Mother Tison seemed to come to her senses.

“Where are you going?” she shouted. “Are you going to save Héloïse? Wait for me, then, I’m coming with you. Wait for me, wait for me, for heaven’s sake!”

The poor woman rushed after them, screaming. But at the nearest street corner she lost sight of them, and, not knowing which way to turn, remained for a moment undecided, looking every which way; seeing herself all alone in the night and the heavy silence, that double symbol of death, she gave a shattering scream and fell unconscious to the ground.

Ten o’clock rang out.

Meanwhile, as that same hour was tolling from the Temple clock, the Queen was sitting by a smoky lamp in the room we have come to know, between her sister and her daughter. Hidden from the view of the municipal officers by Madame Royale, she pretended to hug her, while secretly rereading a tiny note written on the finest paper to be found, in a hand so fine that her eyes, scalded by tears, had scarcely enough strength left to decipher it. The note went as follows:

Tomorrow, Tuesday, ask to go down to the garden, which they’ll allow you to do without any problems, since the order has been given to grant you this favor whenever you ask. After circling the garden three or four times, feign fatigue, go to the canteen, and ask Mother Plumeau for permission to sit down in the canteen. After you’ve been there a moment, pretend to feel much worse and faint. They will then shut the doors so that help can be gotten for you, and you will stay there with Madame Elisabeth and Madame Royale. The trapdoor of the cellar will immediately open; hurry down through it with your sister and your daughter and you will all three be saved.

“My God!” said Madame Royale. “Could our luckless destiny be changing?”

“Or could the note be a trap?” said Madame Elisabeth.

“No, no,” said the Queen. “These characters have always spelled the presence of a friend—a mysterious but very brave and very faithful one.”

“Is it from the Knight?” asked Madame Royale.

“The man himself,” replied the Queen.

Madame Elisabeth joined her hands in an attitude of prayer.

“Let us each read the note again to ourselves,” the Queen went on, “so that if one of us forgets something, the others will remember.”

And the three of them scanned the note once more, but just as they had finished reading, they heard the door of their room creak on its hinges. The two princesses turned round: the Queen alone remained just as she was; but by an almost imperceptible movement she brought the tiny note to her hair and slipped it into her piled-up coiffure.

One of the municipal officers was at the door.

“What do you want, monsieur?” Madame Elisabeth and Madame Royale chorused.

“Hmmmn!” said the municipal officer. “It seems to me you’re staying up pretty late tonight.…”

“So,” said the Queen, turning round with her usual dignity, “is there a new decree of the Commune determining what time I go to bed?”

“No, citizeness,” said the officer, “but if necessary, they’ll make one.”

“In the meantime, monsieur,” said Marie Antoinette, “please respect, I won’t say a queen’s bedchamber, but that of a woman.”

“Really,” grumbled the officer, “these aristocrats always talk like they’re somebody.”

But just the same he was subjugated by the woman’s dignity, once bordering on arrogance in prosperity but now quiet and touching after three years of suffering, and he withdrew.

A moment later the lamp went out, and as usual the three women got undressed in the dark, using obscurity as a veil for their modesty.

The next day, at nine o’clock in the morning, screened by the curtains around her bed, the Queen reread the note of the day before so as not to depart from the least of its instructions. She then tore it up into almost