sed, even the corners of this narrow room grew dim
and dark. There was the sound of distant laughter, loud, coarse,
raucous, many voices talking together, a shouted oath the only word
distinguishable. Was this place, crowded with so-called patriots, safer
for her than Paris? She started to her feet, suddenly urged to action.
What was Monsieur Mercier doing?

She crossed the room and opened her door quietly. The passage without
was dark save for a blur of light at the end where the top of the
staircase was. Walking on tiptoe, she went toward this light. She would
at least make an effort to discover how her companions were engaged.

From the top of the stairs she could see nothing, nor was it a safe
place, for the light fell on her there. She crept down the stairs which
were in darkness until she could see into the room from which the noise
came. Even when bending down and looking through the banisters she could
only see a part of the room. There were more visitors than chairs and
benches, some sat on casks standing on end, and by way of applause at
some witty sally or coarse joke, pounded the casks with their heels
until the din was almost deafening. At a table upon which were many
bottles, one or two of them broken, sat Monsieur Mercier and his comrade
Dubois, both in the first stages of intoxication when men are pleased to
have secrets and grow boastful.

"There's going to be good news for you, citizens," Mercier hiccoughed.
"I've done great things, and this good fellow has helped me."

Dubois smiled stupidly.

"Tell me, is there any more room in the prisons, or are they filled up
with cursed aristocrats?"

Jeanne held her breath. Was Mercier playing a part for her greater
security? How well he played it!

"There'll be room for you and your friends," laughed a man, "or they'll
make room by cutting off a few heads. It's very easy."

"There's more demand for heads than supply," growled another. "There's
some calling themselves patriots that might be spared, I say."

Drumming heels greeted this opinion.

"Very like," Mercier answered. "Shouldn't wonder if I could throw this
bottle and hit one or two at this moment, but I'm thinking of emigres."

A savage growl was the answer.

"They're safe over the frontier, aren't they?" laughed Mercier. "They
won't bring their heads to Paris to pleasure Madame Guillotine, will
they? No," cried Mercier, clasping a bottle by the neck and striking the
table with it so that i