"They have certainly killed the Swiss
guards, who are keeping the door; they will now pour into the
palace. O God! what will become of Varicourt? I must know what is
going on!"
She flew through the antechamber and opened the door of the Swiss
hall. It was empty, but outside of it could be heard a confused,
mixed mass of sounds, cries, and the tramping as of hundreds and
hundreds of men coming on. Nearer and nearer came the sound, more
distinct every moment. All at once the door was flung open on the
other side of the Swiss hall, the door which led out, and Varicourt
appeared in it, pushed backward by the raging, howling mass. He
still sought to resist the oncoming tramp of these savage men, and,
with a movement like lightning, putting his weapon across the door,
he was able for one minute to hold the place against the tide--just
so long as the arms which held the weapon had in them the pulse of
life! Varicourt looked like a dying man; his uniform was torn and
cut, his face deathly pale, and on one side disfigured by the blood
which was streaming down from a broad wound in his forehead.
"It is time, it is time!" he cried, with a loud tremulous voice,
and, as he saw for an instant the face of Campan at the opposite
door, a flash of joy passed over his face.
"Save the queen! They will murder her!" [Varicourt's last words.
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