ges," he went on loudly; and, with a swaggering gait, as though he
were ashamed of his momentary weakness, he passed out of the room
reluctantly followed by Seth, who was apprehensive at having to leave
his master again.

The night fell and passed. Dawn came and the stronger light of morning,
a morning of sunshine and blue sky. The sunlight touched the white sails
of a vessel, and a boat, with its oars flashing, came quickly toward the
shore where a man and a maid waited hand in hand.

Jacques Sabatier rode back toward Paris. From high ground he looked and
saw a white sail far out to sea, then he rode on. But the message he
carried was never to be delivered.

Citizen Latour, feared in Paris, powerful in the Convention, greater
than Robespierre so some had declared, was a traitor. Justice demanded
quick punishment, and the mob, more powerful than Justice, clamored for
it. There was proof enough against him; a score of witnesses if
necessary. Why hear them all? There was no need for a long trial, and
what advocate would have courage sufficient to speak for this prisoner?

Raymond Latour faced his enemies alone, his face still set, full of
purpose. No man uttered a word in his favor, no single expression of
pity met him. Justice might be tempered with mercy if the prisoner would
say where this emigre and this American were to be found. The prisoner
did not know. A storm of howls and hisses met the answer, barely
silenced by the ringing of the president's bell. Had the prisoner
anything to say in his defense? A great silence, unbroken even by the
prisoner himself. He had been eloquent for Lucien Bruslart, for himself
he had nothing to say. Again a storm of hisses; heads thrust forward,
hands flung out that would tear him in pieces could they reach him.
Uproar and confusion, a yelled demand for condemnation. Nothing else was
possible.

Still with set face, with firm purpose, Raymond Latour waited in the
Conciergerie. No friend would come to see him, he knew that. Some of
those he had made use of and trusted were not in Paris, some had already
proved his enemies, and none dared show sympathy even if they would. He
was alone, quite alone, without a single friend.

This day his name was not in the list, nor the next. He wondered a
little at the delay, but waited patiently, knowing that there was no
uncertainty about the end.

"Raymond Latour."

It was the first on the list to-day. Without a word he walked into the
d