"I was rather trying to explain my position," said Latour.

"You do not explain your peculiar interest in me."

"You hardly give me time, mademoiselle," he returned with a faint smile.

"Still, you can appreciate that my sympathies are with the people. That is not the entire truth, however. I had ambition, and the revolution was my opportunity. A strong man might grasp power, and I would be that strong man."

"Are there not many others in the Convention with similar ambition?"

"I think not. Whatever power I might obtain was not for my own glory, but was to be laid at the feet of a woman. Mademoiselle does not remember, perhaps, a certain day some three or four years since, when the horses attached to her coach took fright and ran away. They might have been stopped by the coachman, but they appeared to have got the better of him. It seemed to a man standing there, a poor student, that the occupant of that coach was in danger. He rushed forward, and with some difficulty stopped the horses."

"I remember it perfectly," said Jeanne.

"Mademoiselle, that poor student had in that hour seen a vision from heaven, a woman so beautiful, so far beyond all other women, that he worshiped her. He wandered the streets of Paris only to catch a glimpse of her. He enthroned her on the altar of his soul, and bowed down to her. It was a hopeless pa.s.sion, yet its hopelessness had no power to kill it, rather it grew each day, took stronger possession of his dreams each night, until, reaching forward, he conceived the possibility of winning what his soul desired. That poor student was Raymond Latour. You see, mademoiselle, when you think of me as a red republican, you hardly do me full justice."

Jeanne did not answer. What possible answer was there to such a confession as this?

"Deputy Latour became a power," he went on quietly. "Many things became possible. Mademoiselle had a lover, Lucien Bruslart, a villain, a liar to her and his country. Raymond Latour, with all his faults, was a better man than he, more honest, more worthy a woman's regard, no matter who that woman might be."

He paused for a moment, but still she found no words to answer him.

"This Bruslart for some purpose of his own sent for mademoiselle to come to Paris. I discovered that he had done so. It was an opportunity to show you what sort of a man he was whom you loved. I should have balked his intention and brought you here, had it not been for the bungling of those who served me, and the courage of this man Barrington who has played Bruslart's game for him."

"Unwittingly," said Jeanne. "I grant that Lucien Bruslart is not a worthy man; you must not cla.s.s the other with him." In a few words Jeanne told him how she had written the letter, how Richard Barrington came to know where she was hidden.

"Is it not a further proof against Bruslart? And to me there is still no actual proof of Barrington's honor," Latour went on quickly, as though he were afraid something would happen to prevent his speaking. "Listen, mademoiselle, this room was prepared for you long before you came, a safe retreat. Would any one think of seeking an aristocrat close to a hater of aristocrats? I have thought of everything, planned everything.

The power I have I lay at your feet, now, at this moment. At your word I will become anything you wish. Without you, without the hope of you, nothing is of value to me. With you, there is nothing in the world impossible. France is not the only land. Paris is not the world. There are fairer places on G.o.d's earth where men and women may live at peace.

I have papers which shall make it easy for us to pa.s.s the barriers, which shall bring us safely to the sea. I worship you, words can tell you nothing of that worship, you shall learn it day by day, hour by hour, you shall guide me as you will. You--"

"Monsieur, monsieur! what are you saying? How can I answer such madness?"

"By coming with me, gift for gift, love for love. Somewhere I will so labor that my wife shall know the depth of my reverence, the greatness of my love."

"I have no answer, monsieur, for such folly."

"Not yet, but you will have. A man does not play for such stakes as I have played for, win them, and then throw them away."

"If I understand your folly rightly, you have not won. I could pity--were there not a tone of threatening in your voice. To love you is, and always will be, impossible."

"Has mademoiselle considered all that such a decision means?"

"I know nothing worse that you can do than denounce me to the Convention," said Jeanne, standing up, and looking straight into his eyes. "I expect nothing less and have no fear. You will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have sent another innocent person to the guillotine."

"There is another mademoiselle might wish to save. I have said Monsieur Barrington is in my hands."

"I have never seen fear in Richard Barrington. I do not think he would be afraid of the guillotine."

"You love him," said Latour, sharply.

"Yes;" and then she went on pa.s.sionately, "Have you revolutionaries not yet learned that death is but a pa.s.sing evil, and that there are men and women who do not fear death? I love Richard Barrington; his death or mine cannot alter that, and do you suppose I would purchase life by a promise to you or any other man in the world?"

"Yet he shall plead my cause for me. For himself he may not be a coward, but for the woman he loves he will be. He would rather see you in my arms than send you to the guillotine."

"Monsieur, the decision rests wholly with me. Richard Barrington has already risked his life for me; if necessary, he will give it for me, and he would rather see me dead than give any promise to a man I despise. You cannot understand such men."

"Mademoiselle, I too, risked my life in bringing out of the Abbaye prison the woman I believed was you."

"For that I thank you," she said quickly. "It is strange to me that the same man can stoop to threaten me now."

"You will understand if you think of all I have told you," said Latour, moving to the door. "You are safe for a little while. Your lover shall plead for me. He is a man, and will know what a man's love is."

Jeanne turned to the window. There was nothing more to be said.

Latour went slowly down to his room. All his excitement had vanished. He was calm and calculating again, a man in a dangerous mood; yet Jeanne's words were still in his ears. "I love Richard Barrington; his death or mine cannot alter that." What had he expected from this interview? He hardly knew. He had declared that his game was won, but it was not the game he had schemed to play. It was to have been his love against Lucien Bruslart's. To plead that would have been easy, and surely the woman must have listened, yes, and recognized the true from the false. This cursed American had altered the game; still, he was a man, a man of his word. He had promised to plead for him. He should do it.

Raymond Latour pa.s.sed out presently into the Rue Valette and went in the direction of the Tuileries. There was public business he must do. Paris was clamorous and dangerous. The mob cried out to Deputy Latour as he pa.s.sed, telling him how to vote, but he took no notice, never even turning his head. He was not thinking of a king, but of the woman he loved.

CHAPTER XXV

A DEBT IS PAID

Dr. Legrand slept late on this Sat.u.r.day morning; his dreams had been pleasant, and he hastily descended to his study, his face beaming, his body tingling with excitement. The regret which he had expressed last night, and really felt in his own limited fashion, was gone; how could he feel regret when in a short hour or two he was destined to handle so much money?

As he went to his study a servant stopped him.

"Monsieur, monsieur, we have only just discovered, but Mademoiselle St.

Clair--"

"Yes, yes; what about her?"

"Gone, monsieur."

"Gone!"

The doctor staggered back against the wall, his face working in a sudden convulsion. It was as though the servant had struck him a heavy blow between the eyes.

"Yes, monsieur. Her bed has not been slept in. The Marquis de Castellux is not to be found either. We have inquired among the guests. No one has seen them since they left the salon last night."

No articulate word came from Legrand, only a growl like that of an angry animal. He rushed to mademoiselle's room, then to the one Monsieur de Castellux had occupied temporarily. In a few moments the house was being searched from cellar to garret, every room was entered, whether the guests expostulated or not, but there was no sign of the fugitives, nor anything to show how they had gone. No one noticed that the window at the end of the pa.s.sage had been unfastened.

A little later Dr. Legrand hurried along the Rue Charonne, caring nothing that people looked after him. He was a doctor of lunatics, they said, possibly he had gone mad himself. They laughed and took no further notice of him. He traversed several streets in the Faubourg St. Antoine, evidently familiar ground to him, and presently entered a tumbledown tenement. Going hastily to the top floor, he knocked with his knuckles at a closed door, two low, single knocks, and a double one. It was evidently a signal, for the door was opened at once and Lucien Bruslart stood before him.

"So soon!" he exclaimed.

Legrand entered, pushing Bruslart back into the room, and shut the door.