ion, I
find, and I wish you a good journey."

He knew, as he backed out, that he was cutting a poor figure. And he
would fain have made a more dignified retreat. But before these men,
fugitives and outlaws as they were, he felt, though he was Mayor of
Carhaix, almost as small a man as did Michel Tellier. These were the men
of the Revolution, nay, they were the Revolution. They had bearded
Capet, they had shattered the regime of centuries, they had pulled down
kings. There was Barbaroux, who had grappled with Marat; and Petion, the
Mayor of the Bastille. The little Mayor of Carhaix knew greatness when
he saw it. He turned tail, and hurried back to his fireside, his
body-guard not a whit behind him in their desire to be gone.

Five minutes later the men he feared and envied came out also, and went
their way, passing in single file into the darkness which brooded over
the great monolith; beginning, brave hearts, another of the few stages
which still lay between them and the guillotine. Then in the cottage
there remained only Michel and Jeanne. She sat by the dying embers,
silent, and lost in thought. He leaned against the wall, his eyes roving
ceaselessly, but always when his gaze met hers it fell. Barbaroux had
conquered him. It was not until Jeanne had risen to close the door, and
he was alone, that he wrung his hands, and muttered: "Five crowns! Five
crowns gone and wasted!"

THE END

* * * * *

UNDER THE RED ROBE.

A ROMANCE.

BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN,

AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF," ETC.

With 12 Full-page Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville. 12mo, Linen
Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

"Mr. Weyman is a brave writer, who imagines fine things and describes
them splendidly. There is something to interest a healthy mind on every
page of his new Story. Its interest never flags, for his resource is
rich, and it is, moreover, the kind of a story that one cannot plainly
see the end of from Chapter I.... the story reveals a knowledge of
French character and French landscape that was surely never acquired at
second hand. The beginning is wonderfully interesting."--NEW YORK TIMES.

"As perfect a novel of the new school of fiction as 'Ivanhoe' or 'Henry
Esmond' was of theirs. Each later story has shown a marked advance in
strength and treatment, and in the last Mr. Weyman ... demonstrates that
he has no superior among living novelists.... There are but two