258 BLANCHE DE BEAULIEU. 
Aware that every minute was precious, and that the least delay 
might frustrate the great object he had in view, Marceau prepared 
to leave the trembling girl who still clung to him for support, yet 
feared to tell her that he must go. She read his thoughts, and, 
throwing herself before him, clasped his knees convulsively, crying 
wildly, ‘‘Oh, Marceau! do not leave me! for God’s sake, do not 
leave me in this terrible place! What will become of me if they 
come to drag me hence, when thou art not here to defend me? 
Imagine thy Blanche, thy bride, on the scaffold, and thou far away, 
unable to hear her calling on thy name for help, unable to raise an 
arm in her defence! Oh, my God! what will become of me?” 
« Blanche, I am certain of saving thee: I will answer for it with 
my life. Ere to morrow evening I shall be here with thy pardon. 
They will not—dare not—condemn you before that time ; and then 
we will think no more of dungeons and death, but of life and liber- 
ty, happiness and love.” 
The door opened, and the jailor entered to conduct Marceau from 
the prison. Gently disengaging himself from Blanche, who had 
thrown her arms round him, he imprinted one long kiss on her fair 
brow, and without trusting his voice to utter another word he tore 
himself away. In less than a quarter of an hour the General was 
ou his road to Paris. His known wealth and high rank were suffi- 
cient to procure for him instant attention at every place on his route, 
and he easily obtained promises that horses should be ready for him 
the next day, in order that no obstacle might delay his return. At 
a very late hour his carriage entered the city, and proceeding up the 
« Rue St. Honoré,” he stopped at the door of No. 366, and demand- 
ed to see the citizen Robespierre. ‘ He is not yet returned from 
the ‘ Thealre de la Nation,’ was the reply of the attendant. “ Well, 
then, I will seek him there ; if I am unsuccessful, I will return and 
wait for him here.” ‘And your name, Sir?” “ The citizen Ge- 
neral Marceau.” Cursing in his heart the volatility of his nation, 
which even at such a time had not lost its relish for amusements, 
Marceau bent his steps towards the theatre, and was fortunate 
enough to meet with the object of his search immediately as he er- 
tered the corridor. On introducing himself by name, Robespierre 
extended his hand to the young General, and, with a smile, asked 
what he would demand of him. ‘ An interview of a few minutes,” 
said Marceau. “And when?” ‘This instant,” was the reply. 
Wrapping his large mantle around him, Robespierre made him a 
sign to follow, and rapidly led the way towards his own residence, 
