f stone, the work of a past age. A barred grating high up in the
wall let in air, and possibly light in the daytime. A common chair and
table standing in the center, a bowl with a water can beside it in one
corner, and a heap of straw in another comprised the furniture. These
things Barrington noticed at once, and then recognized that the man who
set the lantern on the table was Jacques Sabatier.

"A prison," said Barrington.

"A place of refuge, citizen," was the answer. "Were you not here, you
would be decorating a lantern by this time."

"We meet in Paris under strange circumstances," said Barrington.

"Still we do meet. Did I not say at Tremont that every true patriot must
sooner or later meet Jacques Sabatier in Paris, though for that matter I
expected it to be in a wine shop and not here, underground."

"Where are we?"

"In a cell of the old monastery which once stood hard by the Rue
Charonne, which has served as a cellar at some time, but now for a long
while has been forgotten. Citizen Latour would have been here with
mademoiselle to meet you, but the mob in the neighborhood will keep them
away to-night. You must wait here, monsieur, it may be for some days."

"Mademoiselle is safe?"

"Quite safe in the care of Deputy Latour. I had the honor of helping him
to bring her out of the Abbaye prison."

"And what are Citizen Latour's plans for getting her out of Paris?"

"He is making them, but they change from day to day as the circumstances
change. At the first opportunity he will come to you."

"I must wait with what patience I can," said Barrington.

"And remain as quiet as you can," said Sabatier. "The crowd will be
hunting for you for some time, and a noise might attract them."

"I shall not court death; I have a good deal to live for," said
Barrington.

"Then, monsieur, I will leave you. Citizen Latour will be distressed
until he knows you are safe."

Richard Barrington's patience was destined to be sufficiently tried. It
was a poor, miserable caricature of daylight which found its way through
the barred grating, and for three days Sabatier visited him every
morning with the same news that the crowds parading the Rue Charonne
made it impossible for Latour to come.

"Is it necessary to lock me in?" Barrington asked.

"It is not to prevent your going out, monsieur, but to insure that your
enemies do not come in."

"I feel like a prisoner."

"Better that than falling into the hands of the mob