eillance."

"I can save M. Mirande the trouble," remarked a mocking voice in the
background. "I think I can lay my hand on any paper that may be
required."

"I do not doubt it, Baudouin," the Girondin answered placidly. "I take
it that I have to thank you for this?"

There was shame as well as triumph in the secretary's eyes as he came
forward. "You cannot say I did not warn you," he said, avoiding the look
of scorn which Claire--who stood by her father's side, her hand in
his--shot at him. "But you would go your way."

"And you, yours!" Mirande retorted. "An old way--Judas's. But hark you,
my friend! You seem to be prospering now. You have kicked down the
ladder by which you have risen. Yet it is in my power to wound you. See
you, do you know who this is?" and he pointed to the Vicomte who, with
his arms folded, was gazing haughtily at the Commissary and his
followers.

"A conspirator against the safety of the Republic--that is all I know,"
Baudouin answered sullenly.

"Possibly," said Mirande. "But not the less for that my son-in-law!"

"The Vicomte de Bercy!" Baudouin almost shouted. "It is false. I heard
of him but yesterday--at Nantes."

"You heard wrongly then!" Mirande answered with a cold sneer. "This is
the man whom you met at Meaux, and of whom you lied to me, saying--that
you might divide him effectually from my daughter--that he refused to
surrender himself to save her."

"It was true--what I told you," the secretary muttered, gazing at Bercy
with hatred.

"It was false!" cried the Girondin sternly. "Do I need evidence? I have
it. Whom shall I believe, you, who have betrayed me to-day, or he who
remained by my side in danger?"

"He could not escape," Baudouin said abruptly. His face was pale, the
perspiration stood on his brow. His jealous eyes glared askance at the
girl's face. Mirande had said rightly. He had yet the power to wound
this traitor.

"He did not attempt it," the Girondin answered. "And besides, I have
tried him as gold in the fire! Look you at this. Bercy!" As the name
rang through the room the speaker turned to the Vicomte and took his
hand, "My friend, I have deceived you. My daughter did not die. I
procured her pardon by the use of such influence as I possessed at that
time. But having done that, deluded by this villain's tale, I forced her
to renounce you and to take her maiden name."

For an instant there was silence in the room.

"She did not die?" the young man mutter