ington, wondering if such a man
as Lafayette could have heard of such a truculent scoundrel as this. "Is
he in Paris?"

"I know nothing of him. He was with the army in the North, but he may
have been recalled. He must obey like the rest of us. Do you ride with
us to Paris to-night?"

"No. Our horses need rest, but we shall meet there, I hope."

"A true patriot must needs meet Sabatier in Paris," and the man
swaggered out of the room, followed by his companion.

Barrington and Seth stood at the tavern door to watch their departure.
It was not advisable that they should be alone with the landlord and
have an opportunity of asking him questions.

The two men rode sharply through the village, but on the outskirts drew
rein.

"Had you sharp enough eyes to discover anything?" Sabatier asked,
turning to his companion.

"Nothing, except that one of them was too much like an aristocrat to
please me."

"He comes to Paris, and may be dealt with there. What of Bruslart's
messenger?"

"I saw no sign of him."

"Yet they journey from the coast and must have passed him on the road.
He was beyond moving of his own accord."

"Do you mean they helped him?"

"Some one has. We were fools to allow ourselves to be disturbed before
completing our work."

"Why did you not question the landlord or the men themselves?"

"Time enough for that," Sabatier answered. "Two men against two gives no
odds to depend upon. Ride on toward Paris and send me back a dozen
patriots, no matter where you find them. There are some in the
neighborhood who have tasted blood in burning a chateau, whisper that
there are aristocrats in Tremont. They shall find me by that farm
yonder, snatching an hour's sleep in the straw maybe. Then get you to
Villefort, where Mercier and Dubois are waiting. Bid them watch that
road. Possibly the messenger was not so helpless as we imagined."

Jacques Sabatier did not move until the sound of his comrade's horse
had died into silence, then he went toward the farm, tethered his horse,
and threw himself down on the straw in a dilapidated barn. Sleep must be
taken when it could be got. The days and nights were too full for
settled times of rest. In his little sphere he was a man of consequence,
not of such importance as he imagined, but, nevertheless, before his
fellows. He had been at the storming of the Bastille, that gave him
prestige; he had a truculent swagger which counted in these days,
especially if there had b