"Indeed, I think he proved himself one though he was a stranger. His
name was Latour, he told me."

Barrington mentioned the name with set purpose. Over the wine the
stranger had certainly expressed distrust of Lucien Bruslart, an
aristocrat turned patriot. The question of Bruslart's honesty had been
in Barrington's mind all day. It would be worth noting what effect the
name had upon his companion.

"Latour? Raymond Latour?" said Bruslart, starting to his feet, more
alert than he had yet been since Barrington had entered the room.

"The same. What do you know of him?"

"No more than all Paris knows, monsieur, but it is enough. He is a red
republican, a leading man among the Jacobins, hand in glove with all who
hate aristocrats. We need look no further for Jeanne's betrayer."

"I am not so certain of his hatred against all aristocrats," said
Barrington, slowly.

"He has a tongue that would persuade the devil himself to believe in
him," said Bruslart.

"And I do not think he knew who was in the coach," Barrington went on.
"I have a reason for saying so, and I may find out the truth presently."

"You are a stranger in Paris, you cannot hope to be a match for Raymond
Latour."

"At least there is work for me to do in this matter, and I shall not run
needlessly into danger. Freedom is precious to us both, monsieur, at the
present time, since we must use it to help mademoiselle. You pose as a
leader of the people, therefore some authority you must have; tell me,
what power have you to open the door of mademoiselle's prison?"

"Alas, none."

"Think, think. Patriotism, wrong headed though it may be, will clothe
its enthusiasts with a kind of honor which cannot be bribed, but how
many real patriots are there in Paris? Are the ragged and filthy men and
women of the streets patriots? I warrant a fistful of gold thrown by the
man they cursed would bring him a very hurricane of blessings."

"You do not understand the people, monsieur," answered Bruslart. "They
would scramble for your gold and cry for more, but they would still
curse you. The mob is king."

"There is the individual, monsieur," said Barrington. "Try a golden key
on his cupidity. I do not mean on a man who is swaggering with new
authority, but some jailer in the prison."

"It might be done," said Bruslart.

"It can. It must. You may use me as you will," Barrington returned. "I
am ready to take any risk."

"Mademoiselle would certainly approve your