ying through the crowd; some man who
had been vainly seeking bread for his children; some woman whose husband
was in the Luxembourg or in the Abbaye prisons, awaiting the dread fiat
of the Revolutionary Tribunal.

These livid and despairing faces were the only blemishes upon the
exuberant gayety that prevailed; but no one saw them and the poor
wretches disappeared without exciting either anger or pity.

The eyes of Coursegol were accustomed to this spectacle, so he walked
coolly through the galleries heedless of the tumult around him and
paused only when he met a group of acquaintances who were discussing the
news of the day. Suddenly some one tapped him on the shoulder. He
turned.

"Is that you, Citizen Vauquelas?"

"I wish to speak to you, Coursegol."

At the same time the man who had just interrupted Coursegol's promenade
took him by the arm and led him toward the garden. He was clad in black
and enveloped in a large cloak that would have made him look like a
priest had it not been for the high hat, ornamented with the national
cockade, which proved him a patriot of the middle class. His thin,
emaciated face, deeply furrowed with wrinkles indicated that he had long
since passed his sixtieth birthday; but there was nothing else in his
appearance that betokened old age. His form was so erect, his eye so
clear, his step so firm, that one, not seeing his face, would have
thought him still in the prime of life.

On entering the garden, Vauquelas glanced around, but, seeing no place
which he deemed sufficiently retired, he seemed to change his plan.

"I fear that these trees have ears," said he, "and what I wish to say to
you must not be overheard."

And without saying more, he led the way to the Cafe Corazza. They
entered it. The saloon was filled with people, eating and drinking while
they read the papers or indulged in heated political discussions. One
man had mounted a table and was delivering a long discourse. He was
endeavoring to convince his listeners that France was being betrayed by
the secret agents sent to Paris by the Emigres. His was no new theme;
buy the orator displayed so much energy that his audience was polite
enough to seem pleased with his efforts. Vauquelas, who appeared to be
perfectly at home, crossed the room to whisper a word in the ear of the
man who was standing at the cashier's desk. This man, who proved to be
the proprietor of the establishment, at once conducted Vauquelas to a
priva