Some ragged miscreant, whose only popularity rested on some recent brutality, was declared capable of governing better than most of the present deputies, and the mob was more out of hand than it had been for weeks. At the call of some loud-mouthed patriot, or on the instigation of some screaming virago, a small body of dancing, swearing patriots would move away bent on mischief which would probably end in bloodshed.

A street, more or less tranquil the moment before, would suddenly become a miniature battlefield, an opinion dividing patriots into factions which began to fight savagely. Anything might happen to-night, another prison might be stormed as the Bastille was, another tenth of August insurrection, another horror equalling the September ma.s.sacres, anything was possible. Only a leader a little bolder than the rest was wanting, and all attempt at law and order would be trampled to nothing in a moment by a myriad of feet.

Barrington proceeded carefully with watchful eyes, yet boldly enough not to draw attention to himself. If a street was in possession of the mob he avoided it, nor did he pa.s.s in the light which came from noisy wine shops, but he did not make the mistake of avoiding those who approached him. His route to the Rue Charonne was therefore a circuitous one, but he came presently to a street which led directly into it, which seemed quieter than many he had pa.s.sed through, and he took it.

He had traversed three-parts of its length in safety when from two side streets crowds came simultaneously. To hurry might raise suspicion, to turn back most certainly would; so Barrington kept on, not increasing his pace, but with his eyes and ears keenly alive. His steady pace exactly brought him into the midst of those who were at the heads of these two crowds, and he was ready to receive and return any salutation or coa.r.s.e pleasantry which might be offered to him, when he found himself carried in a rush to one side of the street. Between these two crowds there was some quarrel, possibly no more than an hour old, and men and women flew at one another in a fury. Being at the edge of the fight Barrington had no great difficulty in extricating himself, and no need to defend himself beyond an arm flung out to avoid the blow from a stick. So fully were they engaged in their fight that they were unlikely to take much notice of him, and he was congratulating himself on his escape when one out of the many faces about him suddenly seemed to stand out distinct from all the rest. Barrington did not know the face, had never seen the man before that he was aware of, but it fascinated him.

He was obliged to stare back into the eyes fixed upon him, and knew instinctively that he was in peril.

"An aristocrat!"

The exclamation burst out like the report of a pistol.

"The American!"

The noise of the fight sank in a kind of sob as the roar of a breaking wave sinks with an angry swish back into silence; and as there is a pause before the next wave is flung upward to break and roar, so was there a pause now. Then came the yell of fury, faction quarrel forgotten. They were all of one mind in a moment.

"An aristocrat! The American! The American!"

In the moment of pause Barrington had thrust aside a man who seemed to bar his way, and had started to run. He was a score of yards to the good; with fortune on his side he would turn into the Rue Charonne well ahead of all but two of his pursuers; an open doorway, an alley, some hiding-place might present itself. Escape was not probable, but there was a chance, that bare chance which keeps the courage steady.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Escape was not probable, but there was a chance.]

As he rushed into the Rue Charonne, the yelling chorus behind him, a new difficulty faced him. Just before him was the Chat Rouge, the one place in all Paris that must not attract the attention of the mob to-night. An archway was beside him and he turned into it.

"The American! The American!"

The bloodhounds were in the street. Would they miss this archway? It was unlikely.

"Quick!" said a voice in his ear as he was dragged back against the wall. "There is straw below. Jump!"

The crowd was rushing past the archway, but some stopped to examine it as Barrington jumped down, falling on his hands and knees onto a bed of straw.

"The American!"

"This way. He must have gone this way!"

The babel of voices was loud for a moment, then something silenced it, and there was the swift sound of a bolt shot home carefully.

CHAPTER XVII

SETH IS CAUTIOUS

It was doubtful whether any man, woman or child, not even excepting Richard Barrington himself, had any clear idea of Seth's character, or the exact standpoint from which he viewed life and his fellows. On the Virginian estate he had always led an isolated kind of existence, happier apparently in his own company than any other. His devotion to his mistress and her boy was known, and pa.s.sed for one of his peculiarities, had occasionally indeed been cast in his teeth as a selfish device for winning favor. Barrington, as a boy, had made use of him, as a man he had brought him to France knowing that he was to be trusted, yet hardly realizing that Seth's trustworthiness was rooted in love, such a love as men do not often receive. Since they had landed in France, and danger had been as their very shadows, Richard had caught glimpses of this love, but had understood it rather in terms of comradeship than in any deeper sense, and had perhaps misinterpreted Seth's keen desire to return forthwith to Virginia. Seth, in short, was seldom able to express himself adequately, emotion scarcely ever sounded in his voice, and the expression of his face was a fixed and unchangeable one, somewhat dour and ill-tempered in aspect and reflecting nothing of the man within.

That his master had gone into imminent danger by keeping the appointment at the Chat Rouge, Seth was convinced, yet for three days he did nothing, nor did he plan anything in his mind. He had been told to wait three days, and he waited, no look of anxiety in his eyes, no suppressed agitation or desire for action apparent in his manner. He went out and came in as though these days had no particular interest for him, and ate and drank as a normal man with no care in his mind.

Precisely at the end of those three days, however, he began the labor which he had fully expected to be obliged to do--the discovery of Richard Barrington's whereabouts. Seth knew that the Marquis de Lafayette had left Paris, or at least that his master had been told so, but, being disposed to take nothing for granted, it was to Lafayette's apartments that he went first.

The servant who was still there did not remember him, and was not inclined to give any information.

"I don't expect to see the Marquis though I asked for him," Seth answered. "I am Monsieur Barrington's man, and it was you no doubt who delivered your master's message to him. Monsieur Barrington has gone."

"I am glad. I know the Marquis was anxious that he should leave Paris."

"By gone I mean that I don't know where he is," said Seth, "but I don't think he has left Paris."

"Do you mean that he is arrested? I might get a message through to my master who is with the army in the north."

"I don't know that he is arrested. No, I think it would be better not to send a message until I am certain. It is possible, although not probable, that you may hear of my master; if you do will you let me know?"

"I will. You are still at the house of Monsieur Fargeau?"

"Yes, and shall remain there."

Seth next went to find Lucien Bruslart. He had no intention of being open with him. He had concocted an ambiguous message from his master, so framed as to astonish Bruslart, whether he knew where Richard Barrington was or not, and Seth hoped to read something of the truth in his face.

Citizen Bruslart's apartment was closed, and the concierge knew nothing about him. His servants had also gone.

"Ah! like rats from a sinking ship, eh, citizen?"

"Maybe. I'm no politician."

"Nor I," said Seth, "until there's my own skin to keep whole, and then I'll be politician enough to fight for it. It's not only the aristocrats who are dangerous, citizen."

"Why, that's true."

"And if there's a wine shop handy we might drink confusion to all the enemies of liberty," Seth returned.

The porter was nothing loth, and was soon talking glibly enough.

"I'm not to be deceived," he said, eying Seth curiously. "You are a man with power, and Citizen Bruslart is wanted."

"Ah, you may be no politician, but I see you are no fool," answered Seth, with a swagger unnatural to him. "Men are brought out of the provinces to work in Paris sometimes. Maybe that is why you do not know me. There has been some good work done in the provinces and the authorities begin to understand the value of the men who have done it.

Now Citizen Bruslart--"

"I know only this," said the porter, confidentially. "He went out very hurriedly one morning, and has not returned. His man followed and has not returned either. I do not think Citizen Bruslart intends to come back."

"But they have not sent to arrest him," said Seth.

"Not until you came, citizen," answered the porter, with a wink to show how exceedingly knowing he was.

"You're a smart man. I might presently find use for you."

"I have done a little already, citizen. Two aristocrats have looked through the little window with my help."

"Good, very good. May you receive the reward you deserve," Seth answered, rising as he finished his wine. "I shall hardly earn my pay if I stay longer. You're of the kind I should like to reward, an excellent double-faced man, Judas-like, betraying with a kiss. These are the men who succeed to-day. I love them as I love h.e.l.l and the guillotine."