Mr. Varicourt sadly bowed his head, and a loud sigh came from his courageous breast. "They want what they shall never have while I am alive," he then said, with a decided look. "I have sworn fidelity to the king and queen, and I shall keep it to death. My duty calls me, for the hour of changing guards is near, and my post is below at the great staircase which leads up here. We shall meet at daylight, if I am then alive. But till then we shall do our duty. I shall guard the grand staircase, do you guard the sleeping-room of the queen."
"Yes, we will do our duty," answered Madame de Campan, extending her hand to him. "We will watch over those to whom we have devoted ourselves, and to whom we have vowed fidelity. No one shall pass into the chamber of the queen while we are alive, shall there?"
"Never," replied both of the women, with courageous decision.
"And no one shall ascend the great staircase so long as I live," said Varicourt. "Adieu now, ladies, and listen carefully to every sound. If a voice calls to you, 'It is time,' wake the queen and save her, for danger will then be right upon her. Hark, it is striking three, that is the hour of changing guard. Farewell!"
He went quickly to the door, but there he stood still, and turned once more around. His glance encountered that of his friend, and Madame de Campan understood its silent language well, for she hastened to him.
"You have something to say to me?"
"Yes," he whispered softly, "I have a presentiment that I shall not survive the horrors of this night. I have one whom I love, who, as you know, is betrothed to me. If I fall in the service of the king, I ask you to see my Cecilia, and tell her that I died with her name upon my lips! Tell her not to weep for me, but at the same time not to forget me. Farewell."
He hurriedly opened the door and hastened away. Madame de Campan repressed the tears which would fill her eyes, and turned to the two maids.
"Now," said she, with decisive tones, "let us return to the waiting-room and watch the door of the queen's chamber."
With a firm step she walked on, and the ladies followed. Without any noise they entered the little hall, where in the mornings those ladies of the court used to gather who had the right to be present while the queen dressed herself. Madame de Campan locked the door through which they had entered, behind her, drew out the key and hid it in her pocket.
"No one will enter here with my will," said she. "Now we will place chairs before the door of the sleeping-room, and sit there. We shall then have erected a barricade before our queen, a wall which will be as strong as any other, for there beat three courageous hearts within it."
They sat down upon the chairs, whose high backs leaned against the door of the queen's room, and, taking one another's hands, began their hallowed watch.
All was still and desolate around them. No one of the women could break the silence with a word or a remark. With dumb lips, with open eyes, the three watchers sat and hearkened to the sounds of the night. At times, when the roaring without was uncommonly loud and wild, they pressed one another's hands, and spoke to one another in looks; but when the sounds died away, they turned their eyes once more to the windows and listened.
Slowly, dreadfully slowly moved the fingers of the great clock above on the chimney. Madame de Campan often fixed her gaze upon it, and it seemed to her as if time must have ceased to go on, for it appeared to be an eternity since Varicourt had taken leave of her, and yet the two longer fingers on the dial had not indicated the fourth hour after midnight. But the pendulum still continued its regular, even swinging; the time went forward; only every moment made the horror, the fear of unknown danger seem like an eternity!
At last, slowly, with calm stroke, the hour began to strike four o'clock. And amid the dreadful sounds outside the palace, the women could recognize the deep tones of the great clock on the Swiss hall.
Four o'clock! One solitary, dreadful hour is passed! Three hours more, three eternities before daylight comes!
But hark! what new, fearful noise without? That is no more the sound of singing and shouting, and crying--that is the battle-cry-that is the rattle and clatter of muskets. The three women sprang up, moved as if by one thought, animated by one purpose. They moved the chairs back from the door, ready, as soon as danger should approach, to go into the chamber of the queen and awaken her. Campan then slipped across the room to the door of the antechamber, which she had looked before. She laid her ear to the key-hole, and listened. All was still and quiet in the next room; no one was in the antechamber.
There was no immediate danger near, for Varicourt's voice had not yet uttered the cry of warning.
But more fearful grew the noise outside. The crackle of musketry was more noticeable, and every now and then there seemed to be heavy strokes as if directed against the palace, sounding as if the people were attempting to force the iron gate of the front court.