esented arms, nevertheless every guard
stood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened a gate for the
powerful chief agent of the Committee of General Security.

Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him to the
presence of the martyred little King.

Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding the
other. De Batz walked leisurely, thought-fully, taking stock of
everything he saw--the gates, the barriers, the positions of sentinels
and warders, of everything in fact that might prove a help or a
hindrance presently, when the great enterprise would be hazarded. At
last--still in the wake of Heron--he found himself once more behind the
main entrance gate, underneath the archway on which gave the guichet of
the concierge.

Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: two
were doing sentinel outside the guichet, but there were others in a file
against the wall.

Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge's lodge,
then, as it was not immediately opened from within, he pushed it open
with his foot.

"The concierge?" he queried peremptorily.

From a corner of the small panelled room there came a grunt and a reply:

"Gone to bed, quoi!"

The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron's door slowly
struggled to his feet. He had been squatting somewhere in the gloom, and
had been roused by Heron's rough command. He slouched forward now still
carrying a boot in one hand and a blacking brush in the other.

"Take this lanthorn, then," said the chief agent with a snarl directed
at the sleeping concierge, "and come along. Why are you still here?" he
added, as if in after-thought.

"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his
boots," muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously on
the floor; "an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this... twenty cells
to sweep out every day... and boots to clean for every aristo of a
concierge or warder who demands it.... Is that work for a free born
patriot, I ask?"

"Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont," retorted Heron dryly,
"you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of others ready to
do your work..."

"Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I have
had fourteen days of this convict work..."

He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no further
heed to him, turned abruptly towards a group of soldie