where mademoiselle is."

"Then you will help me?"

"Monsieur, I try every day to persuade Deputy Latour that he is
mistaken."

"We must try another way, Sabatier."

"I will, if monsieur will agree to what I say. I have to think of
myself, and Citizen Latour is a dangerous man to thwart. For a day or
two longer I will try and persuade him; if I fail I will do my best to
help you to escape, but you must be patient or you put my neck under the
knife. Do you agree?"

"Agree! I must. I have no choice."

"Your servant Seth might help me; where shall I find him?"

"My good friend, how can I tell? Paris is a large place," was the prompt
answer. Barrington was not going to speak of Monsieur Fargeau. His house
might presently prove the only safe retreat for him in the city.

"It is a pity, but I shall manage alone," Sabatier answered. "Am I to
give the usual answer to Citizen Latour?"

"Yes. Can any answer be better than the truth?"

Had a miracle happened? Was this man honestly meaning to help him, or
had he seen that the prisoner intended to attack him and chosen this way
of protecting himself? Barrington could not tell. He could only wait and
see.

CHAPTER XX

THE LETTER

Jacque Sabatier is busy in these days, also his master Raymond Latour.
Their private affairs must proceed as quickly as possible, but there are
public affairs which must be done at once, which cannot wait, which a
frenzied people loudly demand with cursings and dancings and mad songs.

War thunders along the frontiers, and passes beyond them. Such a
gathering of nations in arms that right and justice may be done, is a
new thing. Paris has realized its danger, has known it for weeks past;
Jacques Danton, mighty in the Club of the Cordeliers, has urged it with
great words, with a great voice which has made the rafters ring; more,
he has shown how the danger must be met. Safety lies in daring, not once
but again and always. "De l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de
l'audace et la France est sauvee." It is a battlecry which has stirred
hearts, and sent ill-conditioned men to face trained regiments, which
are surprised when such a ragged rabble does not turn and run. Courage
is under those rags and something of true patriotism. But there are
other patriots in Paris, and of a different sort. The frontiers are a
long way off, but here to hand is work for them, work which is easy and
pleases them. The Place de la Revolution is their ba