ought and struggled through the
narrow passage by the little baker's shop, and burst into the courtyard
beyond. The officers went up the stairs, straight on to the second
floor, and as many of the crowd as could squeeze up the stairway,
followed them. The door was locked.

"Open, in the name of the Nation!"

Neither the loud knocking, nor the command, brought any answer.

"Burst it open!" came a roar of voices.

It was a poor, common door, and splintered inwards almost at the first
blow. A rush of feet crossed the threshold, officers, and dirty men and
women, marking the floor, kicking aside rug and strip of carpet. A
dainty apartment, white paint, white curtains over the windows and the
bed, prints hanging on the walls, a faint fragrance in the air. She was
here not long since. See the woman's things upon the table! There were
her clothes upon the bed, a coarse dress; but these other garments! Look
at them, citizens! Here's lace and fine linen! One hag, twisting her
bony fingers into a garment, rent it in pieces, while a second, wrapping
another garment round her dirty rags, began to dance to an accompaniment
of ribald laughter. The aristocrat was here, and not long ago, but she
had gone! The curtains were torn from the windows and from the bed,
soiled in a moment and trampled on; the prints were wrenched from the
walls; the bottles on the toilet table were hurled to the floor and
broken; the furniture was shattered. The nest which had been so
carefully prepared was quickly a heap of ruins.

With curses and blasphemy the crowd hurled itself down the stairs to
the floor below. Here lived Deputy Latour, who had slunk into hiding.
There may be papers in his room; if not, they can break it up as they
have done the room above. Burst open this door too.

The officers knocked loudly. "Open, in the name of the Nation!"

It was a loud summons, no answer expected, yet at once the lock shot
back and Raymond Latour stood in the doorway.

"What do you want with me, citizens?"

He had been waiting for the summons, was ready for it. His hands had
tightened a little as he heard the wreckage of the room above. He knew
that the woman was no longer there, he knew that with his capture they
would forget all about her for a little while. The hours to-night would
be precious to her. Two men loved her, and Richard Barrington was not
the only man who was willing to die for her. So he faced the crowd upon
the stairs which, after one