made her young voice vibrate; "go,
before they break open that door!"

Madame Belhomme, impressed and cowed, obeyed like an automaton. She
turned and marched fairly straight out of the room. It was not a minute
too soon. From outside had already come the third and final summons:

"Open, in the name of the people!"

After that a crowbar would break open the door.

Madame Belhomme's heavy footsteps were heard crossing the ante-chamber.
Armand still knelt at Jeanne's feet, holding her trembling little hand
in his.

"A love-scene," she whispered rapidly, "a love-scene--quick--do you know
one?"

And even as he had tried to rise she held him hack, down on his knees.

He thought that fear was making her distracted.

"Mademoiselle--" he murmured, trying to soothe her.

"Try and understand," she said with wonderful calm, "and do as I tell
you. Aunt Marie has obeyed. Will you do likewise?"

"To the death!" he whispered eagerly.

"Then a love-scene," she entreated. "Surely you know one. Rodrigue and
Chimene! Surely--surely," she urged, even as tears of anguish rose into
her eyes, "you must--you must, or, if not that, something else. Quick!
The very seconds are precious!"

They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, had
gone to the door and opened it; even her well-feigned grumblings could
now be heard and the rough interrogations from the soldiery.

"Citizeness Lange!" said a gruff voice.

"In her boudoir, quoi!"

Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her part
remarkably well.

"Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!" she went on grumbling and
muttering.

"Oh, think--think!" murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, her hot
little hand grasping his so tightly that her nails were driven into his
flesh. "You must know something, that will do--anything--for dear life's
sake.... Armand!"

His name--in the tense excitement of this terrible moment--had escaped
her lips.

All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, and
even as the door of the boudoir was thrown violently open Armand--still
on his knees, but with one hand pressed to his heart, the other
stretched upwards to the ceiling in the most approved dramatic style,
was loudly declaiming:

"Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour,
Pour venger sa maitresse il a quitte le jour!"

Whereupon Mademoiselle Lange feigned the most perfect impatience.

"No, no, my good cousin