grasping at a
straw."

"My faith is strong. I shall find a lodging in Paris. I have been a
market woman already; if necessary, I can sink to a lower level. Of my
own will I shall not leave Paris again until I have contrived to set
Lucien Bruslart free."

"He is not a prisoner, mademoiselle. I have already sent for him."

"Is that safe?" asked Barrington, quickly. "For you, I mean?"

"I think so. At any rate, it was necessary."

"Do you say he is not a prisoner?" said Jeanne.

"He may be here at any moment," said Lafayette.

"Have we been deceived?" Barrington exclaimed.

"I cannot tell," Lafayette answered. "It is true that Monsieur Bruslart
was in the Conciergerie, but he speedily convinced the authorities that
a mistake had been made. I believe he is considered a thorough patriot
now."

Jeanne looked at Barrington, who met her gaze unflinchingly.

"I have told you all I know," he said quietly, answering the question in
her eyes.

There was a silence which was broken by the heavy opening and closing of
the street door.

"Doubtless that is Monsieur Bruslart," said Lafayette. "You would wish
to be alone with him, mademoiselle, so we will leave you for a little
while. I can only hope that his advice will support mine. You may count
on me to do all I can to secure your safety."

Barrington made no promise as he followed the Marquis from the room, but
his eyes met Jeanne's again for a moment. A curious and sudden
conviction came to her that she had at least one friend in Paris, who
was able and willing to help her. She was encouraged and strengthened.
For an instant she seemed to feel the grasp of his hand as she had done
when she ran beside him last night.

Lucien Bruslart's brain had worked busily since the message reached him.
He was glad Pauline had not been with him to hear it. She was such a
jealous little termagant. He entered the room the moment after Lafayette
and Barrington had left it by another door.

"Jeanne!"

"You sent for me, Lucien. I have come."

He bent his head, and taking her hand raised it to his lips. At that
moment he had no thought for Pauline. Yet he felt there was something
lacking in Jeanne's greeting. He would make her understand directly.

"How good of you!" he murmured. "Tell me of your journey. Last night,
strangely enough, I heard of you, and since then have been in a fever of
unrest."

"You heard of me! At the Lion d'Or?"

"Were you there? No, that is not what I