on his way to the Rue Charonne that
night, and it seemed to Barrington that once again he sprang forward to
make an attempt to save himself by flight. The illusion was complete,
for there was a voice of command in his ear. He struck at something that
was in his way, something which seemed to catch him by the throat, then
he jumped and fell. He was in darkness and silence.

Jeanne had started from her corner. Everything happened quickly. She
heard the door break inwards, saw a rush of men, and lanterns in the
opening. For a few moments she could distinguish Richard Barrington and
Seth. Then Seth fell, dragging others with him. For a little longer
Barrington struggled, and then from behind something was thrown over his
head and he was pulled backwards. Jeanne started from her corner with a
cry, and immediately arms were about her, holding her back.

"No harm will come to him, we are friends," said a voice in her ear. "A
sound may betray you and us."

She tried to speak, but could not. Her words were turned into a mumble.
A cloth was over her mouth and face, fastened tightly, strong arms
lifted her and carried her forwards. She could not see, she could not
struggle. The noise of the fighting grew rapidly less. She was being
swiftly carried away from it, now along a passage, now down two or three
flights of stairs. She was in the open air, the cold wind of the night
was about her. There were voices, a quick word or two, then other arms
were about her, placing her in a chair it seemed--no, a coach. Wheels
turned quickly on the uneven cobbles of the street, a horse galloped,
and then settled into a fast trot. Whether the journey was long or
short, Jeanne hardly knew, her brain was in a whirl, refusing to work
consecutively. The coach stopped, again strong arms lifted her, again a
passage, the night air still about her, then stairs up which she was
borne. A door opened and she was gently placed in a chair. The door
closed again. For a moment there was silence.

"You're quite safe, cherie," said a woman's voice, and fingers were
undoing the cloth which was bound round Jeanne's head. "You're quite
safe. No one in Paris would think of looking for you here."

The cloth fell off, and Jeanne, half dazed, only partly understanding
what had happened, looked about her. Her companion, an old woman with a
tri-color cockade fastened to her dress, watched her.

The room, one of two opening into each other, was small, mean, yet fresh