ung friend, shall we adjourn to the office of my
colleague, citizen Heron, who is chief agent of the Committee of General
Security, and will receive your--did you say confession?--and note the
conditions under which you place yourself absolutely in the hands of the
Public Prosecutor and subsequently of the executioner. Is that it?"

Armand was too full of schemes, too full of thoughts of Jeanne to note
the tone of quiet irony with which Chauvelin had been speaking all
along. With the unreasoning egoism of youth he was quite convinced that
his own arrest, his own affairs were as important to this entire nation
in revolution as they were to himself. At moments like these it is
difficult to envisage a desperate situation clearly, and to a young man
in love the fate of the beloved never seems desperate whilst he himself
is alive and ready for every sacrifice for her sake. "My life for hers"
is the sublime if often foolish battle-cry that has so often resulted in
whole-sale destruction. Armand at this moment, when he fondly believed
that he was making a bargain with the most astute, most unscrupulous
spy this revolutionary Government had in its pay--Armand just then had
absolutely forgotten his chief, his friends, the league of mercy and
help to which he belonged.

Enthusiasm and the spirit of self-sacrifice were carrying him away. He
watched his enemy with glowing eyes as one who looks on the arbiter of
his fate.

Chauvelin, without another word, beckoned to him to follow. He led the
way out of the lodge, then, turning sharply to his left, he reached the
wide quadrangle with the covered passage running right round it, the
same which de Batz had traversed two evenings ago when he went to visit
Heron.

Armand, with a light heart and springy step, followed him as if he were
going to a feast where he would meet Jeanne, where he would kneel at
her feet, kiss her hands, and lead her triumphantly to freedom and to
happiness.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE REMOVAL

Chauvelin no longer made any pretence to hold Armand by the arm. By
temperament as well as by profession a spy, there was one subject at
least which he had mastered thoroughly: that was the study of human
nature. Though occasionally an exceptionally complex mental organisation
baffled him--as in the case of Sir Percy Blakeney--he prided himself,
and justly, too, on reading natures like that of Armand St. Just as he
would an open book.

The excitable disposition of the