be."

"Good night, mademoiselle," he said, raising her hand to his lips.
"To-morrow is Saturday. I wonder who goes to-morrow? We are happy in
having no anxiety."

Barrington was by the door and opened it for her.

"Does mademoiselle permit?" and as he bent over her hand he whispered,
"Be ready. Listen. Wait until I come."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE EMPTY HOUSE

The thought of the morrow was pleasant to Dr. Legrand. In his study he
bent over a paper of calculations, figures that appealed to the greedy
soul that was in him.

"Vive la Revolution," he murmured; "it makes me rich. He is careful,
this citizen, and does not trust me to fulfill a bargain. To-morrow I
shall have the papers; it will be early, and then--then the money. He
cannot escape without my help, he cannot escape me."

He put down his pen and rubbed his hands together. He was excited
to-night.

"I am sorry for mademoiselle," he said as he went to bed, but his sorrow
did not keep him awake, his conscience was too dead to trouble him. He
slept as a just man sleeps, soundly.

Jeanne did not sleep. She sat in the dark, waiting, listening. Doors
were shut in distant corridors, the house gradually grew quiet. She sat
with her hands clasped in her lap, a little excited, but not impatient.
How long she had waited, how long she would have to wait, she did not
know, but she had perfect faith, and did not become restless. A moment
was coming when she must act, and she was prepared. Just that moment
mattered and nothing else; all her thoughts were focused upon it.

It came suddenly, a scratching on the door, so light as to be inaudible
except to listening ears. Jeanne rose at once, silently opened the door,
which purposely she had not latched, and stepped into the passage. A
hand touched her on the arm and then slid down her arm until it clasped
her fingers. She was pulled forward gently.

"The stairs--carefully," whispered a voice.

Not a sound was in the house, nor in the world it seemed, as they went
down the stairs and along the passage to the window which overlooked the
roof of the outbuildings. The night was dark, overcast, not a star. This
was a window seldom opened. Last night Barrington had examined it, had
eased the latch; now there was hardly a sound as he opened it, only the
cold night air coming in.

"I go first," said Barrington; and he climbed out and dropped silently
on to the roof some five feet below. Jeanne followed, and he lifted h