eless, the starving, or the evil-doer found
shelter under the porticoes of the houses, from whence wealthy or
aristocratic owners had long since thought it wise to flee.

No one challenged Armand when he turned into the square, and though
the darkness was intense, he made his way fairly straight for the house
where lodged Mademoiselle Lange.

So far he had been wonderfully lucky. The foolhardiness with which he
had exposed his life and that of his friends by wandering about the
streets of Paris at this hour without any attempt at disguise, though
carrying one under his arm, had not met with the untoward fate which it
undoubtedly deserved. The darkness of the night and the thin sheet of
rain as it fell had effectually wrapped his progress through the lonely
streets in their beneficent mantle of gloom; the soft mud below had
drowned the echo of his footsteps. If spies were on his track, as
Jeanne had feared and Blakeney prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in
evading them.

He pulled the concierge's bell, and the latch of the outer door,
manipulated from within, duly sprang open in response. He entered, and
from the lodge the concierge's voice emerging, muffled from the depths
of pillows and blankets, challenged him with an oath directed at the
unseemliness of the hour.

"Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he
walked quickly past the lodge making straight for the stairs.

It seemed to him that from the concierge's room loud vituperations
followed him, but he took no notice of these; only a short flight of
stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne.

He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be still in
bed, that he might have some difficulty in rousing Madame Belhomme, that
the latter might not even care to admit him; nor did he reflect on the
glaring imprudence of his actions. He wanted to see Jeanne, and she was
the other side of that wall.

"He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you?" came in a gruff
voice to him from below.

He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside
Jeanne's door. He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing echo of
the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the
door.

"Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing there?"

The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his feet
thrust in slippers, and carrying a guttering tallow candle, had appeare