ne between high walls, a place where refuse
collected and was allowed to remain undisturbed, a place upon which
looked no prying window and which echoed to no footfall.

The driver had turned to jeer at his companion when he found himself
seized in a grip there was no fighting against. He tried to call out,
but succeeded in giving only a whispered respiration, and then a heavy
blow robbed him of his senses.

The coach door opened. The man inside got out quickly and helped the
woman to descend.

"Keep silent, mademoiselle; it is all arranged," he whispered, and in a
few moments he had divested himself of his coat and hat, of everything
which marked him as an officer of the Convention, and even of the shaggy
hair which hung about his eyes and neck, and threw all this disguise
into the coach. He was another man altogether. "Come; we must walk. The
worst danger is past."

The man who had sat on the box was bending over the coachman. He said
nothing, did not even look up as the two went swiftly down the alley.
When they had gone he, too, divested himself of everything that proved
him an officer of the Convention and of the wig which had concealed his
identity. These he put into the coach. Then he lifted the unconscious
driver from the ground and put him into the coach also, closing the door
upon him. The horse had not attempted to move. He was a tired, worn-out
beast, glad to rest when and where he could. He was unlikely to move
until his master roused to make him, and the dawn might be no longer
young when that happened, unless some stray pedestrian should chance
down that deserted way.

For an hour that evening Raymond Latour plied his friends and fellow
patriots with wine. So glorious an hour seemed of long duration. In case
of accident there would be a score of good witnesses to swear that their
friend the deputy had been drinking with them all the evening. Under the
influence of wine and loud patriotism the flight of time is of no
account.

It was close on midnight when Latour entered the alley by the baker's
shop in the Rue Valette, walking slowly. Seated at the top of the stairs
he found Sabatier.

"Yes, and asleep probably," said Sabatier, answering the question in his
eyes.

"It was well done," said Latour. "Come to me early to-morrow. This man
Barrington may be suspected and must be warned."

"And Bruslart?"

"Yes, to-morrow we must think of him, too. Good night, citizen."

Sabatier went down the sta