f she loves. Women sometimes deceive themselves and us. But tell me
how you are able to bring me this news."

"You were an aristocrat, citizen, therefore suspected and watched. Your
servants were watched, too, and this man's movements were noted. He was
followed out of Paris. He was caught upon the road and questioned. Some
patriots have rough manners, as you know, and your servant was faithful,
perchance showed fight. All I know for certain is that he is dead."

"Poor Rouzet," said Bruslart, covering his face with his hands for a
moment. "Poor Rouzet, I believe his family has been attached to ours for
some generations."

"And were more faithful than their masters, doubtless. No, citizen, the
words do not refer to you, you are no longer an aristocrat," Latour went
on quickly. "Still, a word of friendly advice, you talk too much like
one. I understand, but the people are ignorant."

"Thank you for your advice. I must be myself whatever else I am."

"As a patriot it would be well to think no more of mademoiselle," Latour
went on. "Such love is unnatural the people will affirm. Are there not
women in Paris as beautiful? Find one to love and there will be proof of
your patriotism."

"You take much interest in me," said Bruslart.

"Is there not a kind of friendship between us?" was the reply. "Were I
Lucien Bruslart, I should leave Paris. I know a man who would do
something to help him."

Bruslart looked at him steadily for a moment. "Again I thank you," he
said quietly, "but, my friend, you are not the only man who is competent
to prophesy in what direction things may turn. You have set yourself a
goal to win, so have I. It would almost seem that you expect our aims to
clash."

"Diable! Is that all you can see in good advice," said Latour. "I
thought your wit went deeper."

"Need we quarrel?" said Bruslart.

"No; let us laugh at each other. In our different ways, doubtless, we
shall both be satisfied."

Latour did not often laugh, but he laughed now as he turned to the door.
The curtains over the archway leading to an inner room swayed outwards
with the draught as he opened the door, and then seemed to draw back
suddenly, as Latour said good-by, still laughing. The door was closed,
the footsteps went quickly down the stairs, the curtains hung straight
for a little space. Then they parted sharply, and a woman, holding them
on either side of her, stood between them.

CHAPTER VII

A JEALOUS WOMAN

T