should he say to her?

The coffee warmed Raymond Latour, but there was unusual excitement in
his movements. As the light increased he sat down and tried to read. It
was a volume of Plutarch's "Lives," a book which had done much to
influence many revolutionaries; but he could not read with any
understanding. To-day there was so much to be done, so many things to
think of. There were his own affairs, and they must take first place,
but in Paris the excitement would be at fever pitch to-day. Louis Capet
was to die, the voting had decided; but when? There was to be more
voting, and Raymond Latour must take his part in it. It was no wonder
that he could not read.

The hours had dragged through the night, yet when a knock came at his
door, it seemed to him that he had had little time to mature his plans,
that it was only a very little while since he had carried the woman up
the stairs. He opened the door quickly.

"The citizeness is awake and dressed. She is anxious to see you."

"What have you told her?"

"Only that the man who brought her last night would come and explain."

"I will go to her."

But Latour did not go immediately. He must have a few moments for
thought, and he paced his room excitedly, pausing more than once to look
at himself in a little mirror which hung upon the wall. His followers
would hardly have recognized in him the calm, calculating man with whom
they were accustomed to deal. It was with a great effort that he
steadied his nerves and went quietly up the stairs.

Jeanne rose from her chair as he entered, but Latour could not know how
her heart beat as the door opened. She looked at him steadily,
inquiringly, waiting for him to speak.

"Mademoiselle has slept, I trust?"

It seemed to Latour that he looked at her for a long time without
speaking, such a whirl of thoughts swept through his brain as he entered
the room and saw the woman standing there. He remembered the other woman
who had occupied this apartment until he had let her go two or three
days since. He had hated her for being there. This room had not been
fashioned with such infinite care for such a woman as Pauline Vaison,
but for this very woman who now stood before him. How strangely natural
it seemed that she should be there! This was the moment which had been
constantly in his dreams waking and sleeping.

"I do not know you," she said. "Why am I here? Indeed, where am I?"

"Mademoiselle, I have come to explain. It is a lon