."

Bruslart looked at her, realizing the full extent of his danger for the
first time.

"That is an awkward riddle for you to read, isn't it?" she said. "It is
an unpleasant position, as unpleasant as mine when they arrested me in
the place of Mademoiselle St. Clair, and my lover took no steps to set
the mistake right; as unpleasant as when my escape from the Abbaye
forced you to hide from me. That is why you ran away, Lucien. You were
afraid of me. Now I have found you, and mademoiselle has really escaped
out of your clutches. It is a very awkward position, Lucien. I do not
see how you are going to wriggle out of it."

"The way is plain, let us arrange everything before Legrand returns,"
said Bruslart.

"There is nothing to arrange. This little cockloft does not fill the
whole of this upper story. There is another attic on the other side of
that partition, with a cupboard in it. Standing in the cupboard, with
the ear against the woodwork, one can hear all that is said here, and if
you look in that partition you will find a crack, through which nearly
the whole of this place can be seen. You may take my word for it, I have
lived on the other side since Wednesday night. Your own servant betrayed
your hiding-place to me, for a ridiculously small sum. Your worth is not
great even in his eyes."

"Be sensible, Pauline. I will--"

"Pay me for secrecy? Will you give me the other half of mademoiselle's
money?"

"I said, be sensible. Come with me, join me on the road to the frontier.
It is what I have intended all along."

"It's a lie!"

The woman was suddenly alive with passion--dangerous, and Bruslart knew
it.

"You are not polite," he said.

"I am better than that; I am honest."

"Be sensible as well. The time is short. Sit down and let us arrange
quickly."

"I have told you, there is nothing to arrange," she answered.

"Once for all, will you come? Yes or no," he said angrily.

"No."

"What are you going to do?"

"Pay, Lucien, pay. Legrand will return, but he will not find you."

"You she-devil!"

The words were hissed out as he sprang toward her. It was his life or
hers. There was no other alternative. Murder was in his hands, in his
soul. She realized this and even as he touched her, she cried out--

"Help! Help, citizens!"

In a moment the door was thrown open and Lucien Bruslart was in the
hands of the officers of the Convention, crouching in their grasp, white
and afraid, too terrified eve