er night of sound sleep, Seth."

"I should, Master Richard. I should just forget this time as though it
had never been, wipe the marks of it off the slate. He's a wise man who
does that with some of the episodes of his life."

"I am a fool with a long memory," said Barrington.

"Ay, but you will grow older, Master Richard; and life is less romantic
as we grow older."

So from Seth there was not much consolation to be had, only sound common
sense, which was not altogether palatable just now as Barrington counted
the days. Latour had been very indefinite. He had said a week, and on
waking one morning Barrington's first thought was that the week ended
to-morrow. It was a proof of his trust in Latour, half unconscious
though such trust might be, that he had not expected to hear anything
until the week had passed. He judged Latour by himself.

Seth went out in the morning as usual, looking as true and
uncompromising a patriot as any he was likely to encounter in the
street. He rather prided himself on the way he played his part, and wore
the tri-color cockade with an air of conviction. Grim of feature, he
looked like a man of blood, a disciple of rioting, and he had more than
once noticed that certain people who wished to pass unobserved shrank
from him, which pleased him greatly. Early in the afternoon he returned
hurriedly. It was so unlike him to come up the stairs hastily, two at a
time, that Barrington opened the door to meet him.

"Shut it, Master Richard," he said, as he entered the room.

"What has happened?"

"The unexpected. Mademoiselle escaped from the Abbaye Prison last
night."

"You are sure! You have seen Latour?"

"Sure! The news is all over Paris. The mob is furious. There are cries
for a general massacre of prisoners, as happened a little while since,
so that no others may escape. There is talk of a house-to-house search,
and there are more ruffians in the streets to-day than I have seen at
all."

"Is there any mention of Latour, any suspicion of him?"

"I heard none, but they talk of--"

"Bruslart!" ejaculated Barrington.

"No, of a scurvy devil of a royalist who helped mademoiselle into
Paris."

"Of me? By name?"

"I did not hear your name spoken, but it is you they mean. They are
looking in every direction for mademoiselle, but they are keeping their
eyes open for you, too. There'll be some who will remember seeing you at
the barrier the other day. Yours is a figure not easily to be