"And in love, they say," Barrington added.

A low growl expressed Seth's opinion on this point.

"Right, Seth, right," was the bitter answer. "I have had my lesson, and enough of women for a lifetime. You have your wish. We ride alone to Paris."

The two men who entered the wood as Barrington and Seth rode out of it were lackeys, and ran to their master.

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

"What is it?" he asked with an angry oath.

"Monsieur, there is some mistake. Mademoiselle St. Clair left Beauvais last night before the dance was over at the chateau."

CHAPTER VI

TWO PRODUCTS OF THE REVOLUTION

In the Rue Valette, a street of long memory, down which many students had pa.s.sed dreaming, Calvin not least among them, there was a baker's shop at the corner of an alley. Students still walked the streets, and others, dreaming too, after a fashion, but not much of books. In these days there were other things to dream of. Life moved quickly, crowdedly, down the Rue Valette, and this baker's shop had gathered more than one crowd about it in recent days. Life and such a shop Were linked together, linked, too, with government. Give us bread, was one of the earliest cries in the Revolution. Is not bread, the baker's shop, the real center of all revolutions?

Behind this shop, entered by the alley, was a narrow courtyard, not too clean a depository for rubbish and broken articles, for refuse as well, which on hot days sent contamination into the air. A doorway, narrow and seldom closed, gave directly on to a stairway, and on the first landing, straight in front of the stairs, was a door always closed, usually locked, yet at a knock it would be immediately opened. Behind it two rooms adjoined, their windows looking into the court. The furniture was spa.r.s.e and common, the walls were bare, no more than a worn rug was upon the floor, but on a hanging shelf there were books, and paper and pens were on a table pushed against the wall near the window. The lodging of a poor student, a descendant, and little altered, of generations of students' lodgings known in this city of Paris since it had first been recognized as the chief seat of learning in Europe.

The student himself sat at the table, a book opened before him. He was leaning back in his chair, thoughtfully, his mind partly fixed on what he had been reading, partly on other matters. He was not only a student, but a man of affairs besides. For most men the affairs would have closed the books permanently, they were sufficient, full enough of ambition and prospect, to do so, but Raymond Latour was not as other men. Life was a long business, not limited by the fiery upheaval which was shaking the foundations of social order. There was the afterwards, when the excitement would be burned out, when the loud orators and mad enthusiasts should find no occupation because none wished to hear them talk. The sudden tide sweeping them into prominence for a moment would a.s.suredly destroy many and leave others stranded and useless, but for a few there was the realization of ambition. Those few must have power to grapple with their surroundings, brains to hold fast to the high position upon which the tide wave must fling them. Of these Raymond Latour would be. The determination was expressed in every feature, in the steel gray eyes, in the firm set mouth, in the square and powerful build of the man. Nature had given him inches above his fellows, muscles which made them courteous to him; and study had given him the power to use men. His ability was recognized and appreciated, his companions had thrust him into prominence, at the first somewhat against his will, but carried on the crest of the wave of popularity one easily becomes ambitious. He was of the Jacobins Club, almost as constant an attendant there as Robespierre himself, holding opinions that were not to be shaken. He was not of those who had thought the Jacobins slow and had ma.s.sed themselves, with Danton and the Club of the Cordeliers, nor was he with the milder Lafayette and the Feuillants Club; he was no blind follower of any party, yet he was trusted without being thoroughly understood. It was difficult to decide which held the higher place with him, his country or his own interests. He could not have answered the question himself as he leaned back in his chair, a flood of thoughts rushing through his brain, one thought more prominent than the rest, destined perchance to absorb all others.

There were footsteps on the stairs without, and a knocking at the door.

The visitor had swaggered up the Rue Valette, conscious that some turned to look at him as a man to be feared and respected, yet his manner changed as he pa.s.sed through the alley, the swagger lessened with each step he mounted, and when Latour opened the door to him, the visitor was full of respect, almost cringing respect. Here was a strange caricature of equality!

"Welcome, Sabatier, I was thinking of you. What news?"

"The best. She has come. To-night she is a league from Paris at the tavern of the Lion d'Or on the Soisy road."

"Good news, indeed," Latour answered, and a flush came into his face as he turned away from his visitor as though to hide some weakness in his character. "How was it accomplished?"

"By Mercier turning first thief, then aristocrat, and playing each part so well that it seems to me he is now doubtful which he is. I have only just returned from the Lion d'Or."

"You saw her?"

"No, citizen. She is still in ignorance of her destination in Paris."

"She comes here to-morrow," said Latour, sharply, and his steel gray eyes were suddenly fixed on Sabatier as though they went straight to his soul with the penetration of a shoemaker's awl. "She is to be delivered to me, and you and the others had best forget that you have been engaged on any private mission."

"It is easy to serve Citizen Latour," Sabatier said.

"Spoken as a brother," was the answer. "It is advantageous to serve him as it would be dangerous to play him false, eh? Sabatier, my friend, most of us have some private revenge locked away in our hearts, the lack of opportunity alone prevents our satisfying it. In these times there is much opportunity, it is that alone which makes us seem more vindictive than men in more peaceable circ.u.mstances. Forget that you have helped me to mine, do not ask what form that revenge is to take. I may some day help you to yours and be as secret and reticent."

"I shall not forget the promise," Sabatier returned, and it was easy to see that he was pleased with the confidence placed in him.

"First thing in the morning get to the inn and tell Mercier and Dubois to bring her here. She must be made to understand that her safety depends upon it. They need tell her nothing more."

Sabatier had his hand upon the door to depart when Latour stopped him.

"What about the man who was robbed, this aristocrat you found at Tremont?"

"Safe in Beauvais, citizen, where he is likely to remain. I put fear into him at Tremont and he ran."

"He may come to Paris."

"Then he is easily dealt with," Sabatier answered, and went out.

He was a friend of Citizen Latour, a trusted friend; his swagger was greater than ever as he went down the Rue Valette.

Half an hour later Raymond Latour pa.s.sed along the street, avoiding publicity rather than courting it. He walked quickly until he came to the Rue St. Honore, when his pace slackened a little and he grew more thoughtful. His whole scheme was complete, and he reviewed every point of it to make certain there was no flaw in it. He became suddenly conscious of a man walking in front of him, one of many in the street yet distinct from them all. He was slight, so slight that he seemed tall, walked delicately, something feminine about him, a weak man, perhaps, whom strong men would despise; yet heads were turned to look after him, and a second glance found something definite and determined in the delicate walk, something feline. He went forward noticing none, straight forward, men of bigger bulk stepping out of his path. Latour, whose thoughts were of self just now, not of country, went more slowly still. He had no desire to overtake this man although he knew him well, and dawdled until he saw him enter a cabinet-maker's shop. All Paris knew that here Maximilian Robespierre had his lodging.

Latour quickened his pace and entered a house at the corner of a side street. Yes, his master, the Citizen Bruslart was in, was the answer to his inquiry, and the suspicion of a smile touched Latour's face at the man's hesitation. After waiting a few moments he was announced, and smiled again a little as he entered a room on the first floor, it was so unlike his own, even as the occupant was unlike him.

"You favor me by this visit," said Bruslart, rising to welcome his guest.

"You have not yet heard the reason of it."

If Latour expected his host to show any sign of anxiety he was disappointed, and it was the man's nature to respect courage even in an enemy. He hardly counted Bruslart as such, outwardly indeed they were friends. Had Lucien Bruslart been a coward he would hardly have occupied such an apartment as this and surrounded himself with so much luxury.

There was danger in luxury, yet it was a part of the man, fitted him, was essential to him. He called himself citizen, sought the society of patriots, talked as loudly as any. He had talked to such purpose that, arrested and imprisoned as a dangerous aristocrat, he had been released and welcomed as a true son of Paris. For all this, he was an aristocrat to his finger tips, hated the very atmosphere of a true patriot, and washed their touch from his hands with disgust. His own interests were his paramount concern, he was clever enough to deceive friends and foes as it suited him; even Latour was doubtful how to place him. He was a handsome man, and had found that count for something even in Revolutionary Paris; he was a determined man, with wit, and that art of appearing to hide nothing. An aristocrat! By the misfortune of birth that was all. A patriot! It was a safe profession. Luxury! Why not?

"Is my country in need of my services?"

"Always; but this happens to be a private matter," Latour answered.

"You have been in the Conciergerie, citizen."

"It is not very long since I was released," was the answer.

"Fear touched you in the Conciergerie."

"Narrow walls and uncertainty are unpleasant. You will know what I mean if you should ever be as unfortunate as I was."

"And a servant, fearful for your safety, fled to your friends for help.

Is that so?"

"I have heard it since my release. He is a faithful fellow, and acted on his own initiative."

"Entirely?" asked Latour.

"Entirely. Let me be fair to him. I do not fear danger, citizen, but I have eyes to see its existence. It exists for honest men as well as others, and I have said to Rouzet, that was his name, 'If harm should come to me try and carry news to those who still love me in spite of the fact that I have turned patriot,' I even gave him a little gold trinket that it might be known his news was true."

"Since your release have you sent another messenger to prevent Mademoiselle St. Clair from coming to Paris?"

"She is coming to Paris!" Bruslart exclaimed, half rising.