terest for him. Then he said quietly:

"This way, citizeness!"

Marguerite followed him, and two minutes later he stood beside a heavy
nail-studded door that had a small square grating let into one of the
panels, and said simply:

"This is it."

Two soldiers of the National Guard were on sentry at the door, two
more were pacing up and down outside it, and had halted when citizen
Chauvelin gave his name and showed his tricolour scarf of office.
From behind the small grating in the door a pair of eyes peered at the
newcomers.

"Qui va la?" came the quick challenge from the guard-room within.

"Citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety," was the prompt
reply.

There was the sound of grounding of arms, of the drawing of bolts and
the turning of a key in a complicated lock. The prison was kept locked
from within, and very heavy bars had to be moved ere the ponderous door
slowly swung open on its hinges.

Two steps led up into the guard-room. Marguerite mounted them with the
same feeling of awe and almost of reverence as she would have mounted
the steps of a sacrificial altar.

The guard-room itself was more brilliantly lighted than the corridor
outside. The sudden glare of two or three lamps placed about the room
caused her momentarily to close her eyes that were aching with many shed
and unshed tears. The air was rank and heavy with the fumes of tobacco,
of wine and stale food. A large barred window gave on the corridor
immediately above the door.

When Marguerite felt strong enough to look around her, she saw that
the room was filled with soldiers. Some were sitting, others standing,
others lay on rugs against the wall, apparently asleep. There was one
who appeared to be in command, for with a word he checked the noise that
was going on in the room when she entered, and then he said curtly:

"This way, citizeness!"

He turned to an opening in the wall on the left, the stone-lintel of
a door, from which the door itself had been removed; an iron bar
ran across the opening, and this the sergeant now lifted, nodding to
Marguerite to go within.

Instinctively she looked round for Chauvelin.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CAGED LION

Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who allowed
Marguerite through the barrier into the prisoner's cell? Had the wan
face of this beautiful woman stirred within his heart the last chord of
gentleness that was not wholly at