Devilish poor traveling companions," whispered Mercier, leaning from
his saddle toward the guard; "lustful fellows who get no fun out of
their lusts, as merry as death, and as silent."

The guard laughed and raised his lamp to look into Barrington's face
again.

"Provincials, eh?"

"Ay, from some corner of France where they breed mutes I fancy," said
Mercier.

"They're useful maybe, and if Madame Guillotine eats them presently,
what matter? She must have foul food as well as fine. Any fresh news
worth the telling?"

"None," Mercier answered.

"Then you may save your breath for your journey. Pass on, citizens."

They rode forward, slowly for a little way, then faster, but they were
soon off the road to Versailles. The night was dark, a keen wind blowing
in their faces, and there were gusts of rain at intervals. Still
Barrington asked no questions. If this man Mercier were deceiving them,
he was at their mercy. They were out of Paris, leaving it farther behind
them every moment. They had been in Latour's power, he could have
devised no trap for them at the end of this journey. It would be without
reason. But where was Jeanne? Could she be somewhere along the road in
front of them, or were they leaving her behind? The thought was
horrible, and, curiously, it had not occurred to Barrington until now.
Not only was he inclined to trust Latour, but he could see no possible
reason for his helping him to leave Paris unless he intended him to meet
Jeanne. Latour had said such a meeting might be difficult to arrange. As
they rode onward through the night there came a sudden suspicion, a
reason for this journey, which Barrington cursed himself for not
thinking of before. It fitted Latour's character, the good and evil that
was in it. Was Latour getting rid of him by helping him to escape, and
so leaving Jeanne entirely in his power with every opportunity to play
upon her feelings as best suited his purpose?

"Do we return to Paris presently?" Barrington asked suddenly.

"I do not know, monsieur," Mercier answered. "By dawn my part in this
business ends, and we part company."

"I am inclined to return to Paris at once," said Barrington.

"I would ask you to remember all that Citizen Latour said to you," was
the answer. "He bid me repeat this to you as constantly as you were
inclined to doubt."

"Do you know what Latour said to me?"

"No."

"Am I to see Latour at the end of this journey?"

"That I do not know. I a