of an empire--and France laughed. Revenge, too, perchance
smiled, for the passage of that lone coach left its trail of dead and
wounded. Slowly he mounted into view of his people, and a heart here and
there may have pitied him. He would speak. Surely in this last hour he
may say a word; the words of a man at such a moment, be he king or
peasant, may perchance have a strange meaning and appeal in them; and
also they may be dangerous. Yes, he will speak. He is innocent, that
much was heard, and then another spoke, a word of command, and there was
the loud rolling of the drums. Nothing could be heard above the beating
of those drums. It was difficult even to see through the forest of
bayonets which surrounded the scaffold. It looked like a moment's
struggle between executioners and hand-tied victim, an unequal contest.
Still the drums--then the sound of the heavy falling knife. Then
silence, and Samson, chief priest of the guillotine, holding the head
high, at arm's length, that all may see it and know that tyranny is at
an end, that France is free. Patriotism, armed and otherwise, went mad
with delight. This was a gala day! Sing, dance, drink in it! Such a day
was never known in Paris before!

[Illustration: Paris flung its red cap in the air and France laughed.]

It was no wonder that Jeanne was forgotten, that Dr. Legrand was not
called upon to answer awkward questions. It was not remarkable that the
alleys and byways of Paris were deserted for the wider streets and
places where patriots could rejoice together, and that many who were in
hiding should be free for a day or two from the alarms which almost
hourly beset them.

Richard Barrington had remained untroubled for many hours. As he fought
in the empty house, struggling against a crowd which seemed to press in
upon him from every side, and out of which looked familiar faces, his
brain had played him a trick he thought he was fleeing from his enemies,
jumping into darkness for safety. There had followed a period of total
unconsciousness, set in the midst of a continuous dream as it were, for
he seemed to realize at once without any break that he had fallen upon a
bed of straw and could safely lie there to rest his tired limbs. There
was no recollection of Legrand's asylum, or of the night escape over the
roofs, but presently there came a conviction that he ought to be with
Jeanne. It seemed to him that he tried to get out of the straw but was
unable to do so. It ha