iot and hate all aristocrats. I am woman enough to hate
this one particularly since Lucien once cared for her."

"When one's life is at stake, it is easy to lie if a lie will be useful,
but I believe you, citizeness," said Latour. "I wish to be your friend,
that kind of friend who is honest even if honesty gives pain. First,
then, it is absolutely necessary that you remain here in hiding for a
little while. The mob which carried you to prison knows you have
escaped. You are being hunted for. So beautiful a woman cannot pass
unnoticed. You would be recognized, and since you are still believed to
be Mademoiselle St. Clair, I doubt not the nearest lantern would be your
destination."

Pauline turned pale. "But, citizen--"

"Believe me, you are perfectly safe here," said Latour. "In a few days
the people will know that they made a mistake, and you will be a
heroine."

"I will stay here," she said. "You are sure the woman who brings my food
and looks after these rooms will not betray me?"

"I am certain of that. She believes you are very dear to me, and she is
mine body and soul. Now I come to the second point. It is known that
this aristocrat is, or was, in Paris. It is certain that Lucien Bruslart
knew this; it is almost certain that he has found her a safe
hiding-place. That makes you angry, but there is something more. He knew
that Jeanne St. Clair was supposed to have been arrested in his
apartment, knew that a mistake had been made, but he has taken no steps
to put that mistake right. Is it not possible, even probable, that he
knows you were arrested in her place, and that it has suited his plans
to remain silent?"

Pauline sprang from her chair, her eyes blazing, her little hands
clinched, her whole frame vibrating with the lust for revenge.

"If I thought--"

"Citizeness, I am your friend," said Latour. "We will find out. At
present, Lucien Bruslart is not to be found. For three days, ever since
your escape, mark you, he has not been near his apartment."

"You shall help me," said Pauline, savagely. "I will not yet believe him
false, but if he is, he shall pay for it. I should laugh to see his neck
under the knife."

"You let me into a secret, citizeness, the greatness of your love."

"Great love like mine means hatred if it is scorned," she said; and then
she added quickly, "But he may have got safely away from Paris."

There was in her attitude that sudden savagery which a cat shows at the
prospect of