yell of triumph, had fallen silent. This man
had always been feared. No one knew his power for certain. He was feared
now as he stood, calm and erect, in the doorway.

"What do you want, citizens, with Raymond Latour?"

Still a moment more of silence; then a fiendish yell, earsplitting,
filling the whole house hideously, repeated by the crowd in the
courtyard, finding an echo far down the Rue Valette.

"Latour is taken! We've got that devil Latour!"

They brought him out of the house, bareheaded and with no heavy coat to
shield him from the bitter night, just as they had found him. The
officers, with naked sabres, were close to him as they crossed the
courtyard, and went through the passage to the street. They were afraid
that the crowd might attack the prisoner. A woman, old and wrinkled,
looking out from the baker's shop, shrank back behind the little counter
that she might not be noticed. The mob danced and sang, but no one
attempted to touch Latour. They were still afraid of him, he walked so
erect, with so set a face, with so stern a purpose. He was the one
silent figure in this pandemonium.

"The man who would have saved Louis Capet!" cried one, pointing at him.

Latour heeded not.

"The lover of an aristocrat!" cried another.

No one noticed it, but a smile was on Latour's face. This was his real
offense, that he loved. The face of the woman seemed to shine down upon
him out of the darkness of the night. All the past was in his brain; his
love, his ambition, his schemes which had ended in this hour of ruin and
failure. Yet still the smile was upon his lips, and there was a strange
light in his eyes. Was it failure after all? This end was for her sake,
the supreme sacrifice. What more can a man do than lay down his life for
love?

CHAPTER XXIX

THE END OF THE JOURNEY

Richard Barrington looked at the man in the doorway and laughed. He was
a mere stripling.

"You will want greater odds than that to drive desperate men," he said
fiercely. "We return to Paris at once and must have your papers."

"Richard!"

Barrington stood perfectly still for a moment as the stripling stepped
into the room, then he sprang forward with a little cry.

"Jeanne!"

"Ah! I hate that you should see me like this," she said, "but Citizen
Sabatier declared it was necessary."

Her face was smeared, much as his own was, a ragged wig concealed her
hair, she was dressed, booted, sashed as a patriot, a pistol at her