"Have you taken any steps to prevent her doing so?" asked Latour.

"Do you suppose I would have called her here on my account? She is not a patriot. She would come to her death."

"That might be a way in which you could serve your country; a decoy to attract lovers and friends."

"Are you serious? Is this the meaning of your visit?"

"What is your answer to it?"

"Rather the guillotine, citizen. Is the answer short and definite enough?"

"Short enough and well spoken," said Latour, with a smile. "You will rejoice to hear that your messenger never reached mademoiselle."

For an instant Bruslart seemed surprised, but it was impossible to tell whether it was at the failure or at the fact that his visitor knew so much.

"If you can a.s.sure me this is true, I shall rejoice," he said. "I have been imprudent. It did not occur to me that she might come to Paris."

"A woman who loves will do much."

"If she loves. Women sometimes deceive themselves and us. But tell me how you are able to bring me this news."

"You were an aristocrat, citizen, therefore suspected and watched. Your servants were watched, too, and this man's movements were noted. He was followed out of Paris. He was caught upon the road and questioned. Some patriots have rough manners, as you know, and your servant was faithful, perchance showed fight. All I know for certain is that he is dead."

"Poor Rouzet," said Bruslart, covering his face with his hands for a moment. "Poor Rouzet, I believe his family has been attached to ours for some generations."

"And were more faithful than their masters, doubtless. No, citizen, the words do not refer to you, you are no longer an aristocrat," Latour went on quickly. "Still, a word of friendly advice, you talk too much like one. I understand, but the people are ignorant."

"Thank you for your advice. I must be myself whatever else I am."

"As a patriot it would be well to think no more of mademoiselle," Latour went on. "Such love is unnatural the people will affirm. Are there not women in Paris as beautiful? Find one to love and there will be proof of your patriotism."

"You take much interest in me," said Bruslart.

"Is there not a kind of friendship between us?" was the reply. "Were I Lucien Bruslart, I should leave Paris. I know a man who would do something to help him."

Bruslart looked at him steadily for a moment. "Again I thank you," he said quietly, "but, my friend, you are not the only man who is competent to prophesy in what direction things may turn. You have set yourself a goal to win, so have I. It would almost seem that you expect our aims to clash."

"Diable! Is that all you can see in good advice," said Latour. "I thought your wit went deeper."

"Need we quarrel?" said Bruslart.

"No; let us laugh at each other. In our different ways, doubtless, we shall both be satisfied."

Latour did not often laugh, but he laughed now as he turned to the door.

The curtains over the archway leading to an inner room swayed outwards with the draught as he opened the door, and then seemed to draw back suddenly, as Latour said good-by, still laughing. The door was closed, the footsteps went quickly down the stairs, the curtains hung straight for a little s.p.a.ce. Then they parted sharply, and a woman, holding them on either side of her, stood between them.

CHAPTER VII

A JEALOUS WOMAN

The archway archway into the inner room was behind Bruslart, but he did not turn as the curtains parted. He knew the woman was hidden in that room, she had gone there when Latour was announced; he knew that she must have overheard the conversation, that she would ask questions, but for the moment he was absorbed in Latour's news. That Rouzet had failed to reach Beauvais was a disaster he had not reckoned upon.

"Lucien!"

"My direct and opinionated friend has gone, Pauline, you may come out of hiding."

Still for a moment the woman stood there grasping the curtains, as though she would will the man to turn and look at her. She was angry, the flash in her eyes Was evidence of the fact, yet she was not unconscious of the picture she made at that moment. A woman is seldom angry enough to forget her beauty. Beautiful she certainly was, or Lucien Bruslart would have taken little interest in her. Beauty was as necessary to him as luxury, and in this case was even more dangerous.

Here was another proof that he was no coward, or he would surely not have placed himself in the hands of Pauline Vaison. She was dark, her figure rather full, voluptuous yet perfect in contour. Her movements were quick, virile, full of life, seductive yet pa.s.sionate. She was a beautiful young animal, her graces all unstudied, nature's gifts, a dangerous animal if roused, love concealing sharp claws ready to tear in pieces if love were spurned. Her personality might have raised her to power in the dissolute Court of the fifteenth Louis, even in this Paris of revolution she might play a part.

Letting the curtains fall together she came and faced Lucien, who looked at her and smiled.

"I heard all he said. I listened."

"Interesting, wasn't it?" Lucien answered. "It is a marvel to me how fast news travels, and how important unimportant things become. I shouldn't Wonder if he knows exactly what I have eaten to-day."

"Paris knows something of Latour," she answered. "He is not a man to waste his time over trifles."

"It certainly appears that he considers me of some consequence since he troubled to visit me."

"And you lied to him."

"My dear Pauline, you are imaginative. Kiss me. You are a delightful creature. I never spend an hour in your company but I discover some new grace in you."

Her kisses were not to be had when she was angry.

"You lied to him and you have deceived me," she said, still standing before him, her body erect, her hands clinched.

"It is not always advisable to speak the exact truth, you know that well enough, Pauline; but I have not deceived you. Does a man deceive the woman he really loves?"

"The lie and the deceit are one," she returned. "You sent for this other woman, this Mademoiselle St. Clair. It was not your servant's plan.

Latour was a fool to believe you."

"Was he? My dear, wise Pauline, his point of view and yours are not the same. You are jealous, whereas he--"

"I stop at nothing when I am jealous," she said. "The sooner you discover that phase in my character the better for you, Lucien."

"I discovered that after I had known you ten minutes," laughed Lucien, "and I am not afraid. Shall I tell you why? I have not deceived you, nor have I any intention of doing so. This Latour is too inquisitive, and inquisitiveness is always asking for a lie. Latour got it and is quite satisfied. Mademoiselle Pauline Vaison is a woman, a woman in love, and just because she is so, is suspicious. All women in love are. So I have not told her all my plans. To complete them it was necessary to get Mademoiselle St. Clair to Paris, so I sent for her."

"You are in love with her. You--"

"She is rich," Bruslart answered. "Her fortune is in her own hands.

Wait, Pauline. Had I wanted to marry her, what was to prevent my crossing the frontier when so many of my friends and acquaintances did?

But I am in love with her fortune. If I am to make myself felt in Paris, if I am to do what I have set my heart to accomplish, money I must have.

True, I am not penniless like some of our ragged patriotic comrades, but, believe me, power will eventually rest with the man who can scatter the most gold to the people. That man I am scheming to be."