"I should be inclined to let circ.u.mstances prevent it," said Seth. "I have not much faith in the help of a man who is so sure of his own cleverness that he takes the woman he loves to the very place where a child might know she would be in the greatest danger."

"I cannot understand that, I must confess, Seth."

"Well, Master Richard, I've always found it a good rule to have as little as possible to do with people you don't understand."

It was wise advice, perhaps, but the fact that Barrington had accused himself of entertaining a selfish hope that Lucien Bruslart was not a worthy man inclined him to believe in him, to trust him. He had, indeed, greater reason to do so now that grave suspicion was attached to Latour.

There was nothing of the despair of last night in Bruslart's manner to-day when Barrington saw him. It had not been replaced by confidence, but a dogged purpose was in his face, and a calm calculation in his words.

"I have done something but not much," he said. "After leaving you last evening, I fell in with a lot of patriots and I was quickly aware that I was in greater danger than I had imagined. I had to think of myself, for once my word is discredited, all my power to help mademoiselle is gone."

"Have you succeeded in re-establishing your credit?"

"I think so. I understand the mob and played to it. I had to lie of course, lies are the chief currency in Paris to-day. I knew nothing of mademoiselle's coming, I said; I did not even know the name of the aristocrat who had been arrested in my apartment, and naturally, as a true patriot I rejoiced at her arrest. I was considered a very fine fellow before the evening was out."

"But mademoiselle was not helped much," said Barrington.

"Not at all. I could not move on her behalf until this morning. First I have ascertained that her imprisonment in the Abbaye is so far fortunate, since it means that there is no desire to bring her to trial hurriedly. This gives us time. Then I have interviewed one or two members of the Convention. I need not tell you, Monsieur Barrington, that most of these men who are striving for individual power are afraid of one another. Each one wants staunch supporters and is ready to pay any price for them. It is worth while obtaining my support, so these men listened earnestly to me. They are inclined to help me."

"How?" asked Barrington.

"It is too early to decide, but I am hoping that we shall be able to show that mademoiselle was in Paris for a legitimate purpose, to help the distress in the city, for example; something, at any rate, to make the mob shout for her release. That way her prison doors would be quickly opened. The respite might be short lived, but it would be long enough. Then would come your part of the work, to see her safely back to Beauvais."

"And what further steps can you take towards this end?"

"Careful ones," Bruslart answered. "First gain the interest of other members of the Convention; secondly, let the reason for mademoiselle's return gradually be known among the poor in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and elsewhere. I can drop a spark or two in different directions, and the mob is tow. The fire will spread."

"But if it does not?" asked Barrington.

"You are depressing, monsieur."

"I want to act."

"It must be with caution," said Bruslart, "and with deceit. We can make no appeal to justice, because justice does not exist in Paris."

"I have nothing to say against your plans," Barrington returned. "I am only wondering whether we cannot work in another direction as well, so that if one way fail we may have the other to fall back on."

"You are still thinking of the power of gold."

"It seldom fails with such men as seem to be the rulers in Paris," said Barrington.

"Perhaps not, but it would fail now. Power is more to these men than gold. The one can be used and gloried in, evidence of the other would only make the mob suspicious. Is there any other way you can suggest?"

Barrington was thoughtful for a moment, making up his mind whether he should tell Lucien Bruslart of Latour's movements.

"No," he said slowly, "I have no other suggestion to make."

"I have every hope of success," said Bruslart, "but I am going to appear discourteous, Monsieur Barrington. It is necessary that I shall be considered a patriot of patriots, nothing must jeopardize such a character at the present time. Now it is more than probable that there are men in Paris who saw you at the barriers with mademoiselle, it would be dangerous to my character if you were seen visiting me."

"I understand."

"And you forgive the seeming discourtesy?"

"There is nothing to forgive. The idea crossed my mind on the way here, and I was cautious."

"Close to the Place du Carrousal," said Bruslart, "in a side street, there is a wine shop, an iron sign representing three barrels hangs over the door; if you could pa.s.s there every afternoon at four, I could find you when I was ready for your help."

Barrington promised to make a habit of pa.s.sing this place at four in the afternoon and took his leave. He had hoped that Bruslart would have accomplished more, but it was something that he had done so much. It was absurd to feel any disappointment, in so short a time what more could he have done? Yet Barrington walked rapidly and in the direction of the Rue Valette. Bruslart had said nothing to alter his determination to see Raymond Latour.

He saw nothing of Seth in the street, and hardly expected to find Latour at home, but no sooner had he knocked than the door was opened and Latour welcomed him. He locked the door again when Barrington had entered.

"I am fond of study," he said, pointing to some open books on the table.

"And I disturb you?"

"No. I think I have almost been expecting you."

Barrington did not answer. It was necessary that he should get the measure of this man, understand the working of his mind, see the thoughts which were concealed behind his words. Barrington was as alert as though rapiers were in their hands, and only the death of one of them could satisfy the quarrel.

"Is it necessary for me to tell you that I guessed who you were yesterday?" said Latour.

"No, I knew that."

"It was not until I returned here that I knew who was in that coach.

That is why I have been expecting you."

Barrington sat down, and with his elbows on the table supported his chin in his hands. In this position he looked fixedly at his companion, and neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Latour sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"I see how it is, Monsieur Barrington, you do not believe me. I am not surprised. I am sufficiently well known in Paris for you to have discovered, if you have taken the slightest trouble to inquire, that I am a red republican, anathema to those who desire milder methods, a bloodhound where aristocrats are concerned. Still, I did not know who was in that coach any more than you did."

"If you had known?" asked Barrington.

"I should still have put out my hand to preserve your life."

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Quite sure."

"You would not have rushed with me into that crowd, thinking of nothing but the woman in the coach."

"What should make you think so?"

"You forget perhaps that you told me there was a woman, an aristocrat, for whom you would do much," said Barrington.

"I do not forget, but the will to do much does not mean the will to die for her."

"No? I think it did," Barrington returned. "I judged by the man's face, not his words."

Latour smiled, as he closed the books upon the table and put them together.