ye. Not every
man gets rid of his tiresome lovers as easily as I am likely to do. More
wine, landlord. We'll drink long life to liberty and death to all
aristocrats. And, Citizen Boissin, we must understand each other and
become better friends. I accused you of entering my lodgings without
invitation, now I invite you. Come when you will, you shall be welcome.
And, in the meanwhile, if there is any good patriot here who is a
carpenter, and can spare time for a job, there is money to be earned. He
shall mend my cabinet."

CHAPTER XIII

THE BUSINESS OF RAYMOND LATOUR

The arrest of an aristocrat, or of some poor wretch who had no claim to
the title, but served just as well for a victim, was a common enough
occurrence. In the first panic there had been a rush for safety across
the frontier, but there were many who remained, either not foreseeing
how grave the danger would become, or bravely determining to face the
trouble. Some, like Monsieur de Lafayette, true patriots at heart, had
attempted to direct the trouble, and being caught in its cyclonic fury
were at grips with death and disaster; some, like Lucien Bruslart,
having themselves or their friends to serve, openly threw in their lot
with the people, playing the while a double game which kept them walking
on the extreme edge of a precipice; and there were others who, finding
their bravery and honesty of no avail, realizing that it was now too
late to escape out of the country, hid themselves in humble lodgings, or
were concealed in the homes of faithful servants. There were patriots
who were ready to howl death to all aristocrats, and yet gave shelter to
some particular aristocrat who had treated them well in the past.
Kindnesses little heeded at the time saved many a man in his hour of
need.

To Richard Barrington that slowly moving coach, surrounded by a filthy,
yelling mob, was a new and appalling thing; to Raymond Latour it was a
very ordinary matter, a necessary evil that France might be thoroughly
purged from its iniquity. When he laid his hand upon Barrington's arm,
he had no idea who the prisoner in the coach was. Had he known, he might
still have put out a restraining hand, realizing that to throw two lives
away uselessly was folly, but in the wine shop afterward he would have
treated his companion differently.

That morning he had waited patiently for the coming of Mademoiselle St.
Clair. He had made a last inspection of the rooms he had hired,