d over the rim of the glass at Boissin,
who seemed confused and unable to bluster. There was a long pause which
was broken by a man seated at another table.

"The breakage need not trouble you, Citizen Bruslart, your trouble will
come when you have to explain how the aristocrat came to be in your
lodgings."

"Whether she entered by the door, or climbed in at the window, I cannot
say, since I was not at home," said Bruslart, with a smile. "My servant
must answer that question. What I want to know is, who is this
aristocrat?"

In a moment every eye was turned upon him. Jacques Sabatier smiled.

"I was going to the prison to ask that question," Bruslart went on. "She
is a woman, that I have heard of, but no more. I am interested enough to
wonder whether she was an acquaintance of mine in the past."

"An acquaintance!" and there was a chorus of laughter.

"It was Mademoiselle St. Clair," said Boissin.

Lucien Bruslart did not start at the mention of the name, not an eye
fixed upon him could detect the slightest trembling in his hand as he
raised the glass to his lips and slowly drank the wine which was in it.
He knew perfectly well what a false move, or an ill-considered word,
might mean to him. There was not a man in that company who did not hate
the name of aristocrat, yet after their fashion, many of them had ties
which they held sacred. The same man who could spend hours rejoicing in
the bloodthirsty work of the guillotine would return home to kiss his
wife, and play innocently with his children. Bruslart knew that to pity
the aristocrat might be hardly more dangerous than to abuse the woman.

"Mademoiselle St. Clair. In the past she was more than an
acquaintance," he said.

"She is your lover," said half a dozen voices together.

"She was," corrected Bruslart, quietly, "and therefore a little
sentiment enters into the affair. I could almost wish it had been some
other woman. That is natural, I think."

"Ay; and it explains why she took shelter in your lodgings," said
Boissin.

"True, it does; and, so far as I remember, it is the only personal
matter I have against her. I do not recall any other injury she has done
me. I am afraid, citizens, she has some case against me, for I grew
tired of her long ago."

"She does not believe that, nor do I, for that matter," said Boissin.

"What you believe is a matter of indifference to me, citizen," returned
Bruslart, "and as for the woman--well, she is in the Abba