d Dolores. "Since you are here, you
are saved! You shall remain!"

She paused suddenly, recollecting that the house was not hers; Philip
noticed her hesitation.

"Am I in your house?" he asked.

"No; you are in the house of Citizen Vauquelas, Coursegol's business
partner."

"Vauquelas! How unfortunate!"

"Why?"

"Because, unless there are two individuals by that name, the master of
this house is the friend of Robespierre, and one of the men who aided in
the discovery of the plot formed by my companions and myself for the
rescue of the queen."

Dolores uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.

"What shall we do?" she murmured.

"Is not Coursegol here?"

"He will not return until late at night."

"He would have found some way to conceal me until to-morrow."

"I will conceal you in his room," said Dolores. "No one enters it but
himself. I will await his return and tell him you are there."

Philip approved this plan.

"But you said just now that you were hungry;" exclaimed Dolores. "Ah!
how unfortunate it is that the servants are in bed."

She hastily left the room, and Philip, worn out with excitement, hunger
and fatigue, remained in the arm chair in which Dolores had placed him.
She soon returned, laden with bread, wine, and a piece of cold meat,
which she had been fortunate enough to find in the kitchen. She placed
these upon a small table, which she brought to Philip's side. Without a
word, the latter began to eat and drink with the eagerness of a
half-famished man. Dolores stood there watching him, her heart throbbing
wildly with joy while tears of happiness gushed from her burning eyes.

Soon Philip was himself again. The warmth and the nourishing food
restored his strength. A slight color mounted to his cheeks, and a
hopeful smile played upon his lips. Not until then, did Dolores venture
to utter the name that had been uppermost in her thoughts for some
moments.

"You have told me nothing of Antoinette."

This name reminded Philip of the sacred bond of which Dolores was
ignorant, and which had never seemed to him so galling as now.

"Antoinette!" he replied. "She is living near London in the care of some
friends to whom I have confided her."

"Is she your wife?" inquired Dolores, not daring to meet Philip's eyes.

"No."

"But your father's wishes--"

"In pity, say no more!" interrupted Philip, "If I had not found you
again, if I had had certain proofs that you were no longer alive,