ece with a grudgingly muttered word of thanks.

Chauvelin during this brief interlude, had walked thoughtlessly on
ahead. Marguerite, peering down the length of the narrow corridor, spied
his sable-clad figure some hundred metres further on as it crossed the
dim circle of light thrown by one of the lamps.

She was about to follow, when it seemed to her as if some one was moving
in the darkness close beside her. The wardress was even now in the act
of closing the door of her cubicle, and there were a couple of soldiers
who were disappearing from view round one end of the passage, whilst
Chauvelin's retreating form was lost in the gloom at the other.

There was no light close to where she herself was standing, and the
blackness around her was as impenetrable as a veil; the sound of a human
creature moving and breathing close to her in this intense darkness
acted weirdly on her overwrought nerves.

"Qui va la?" she called.

There was a more distinct movement among the shadows this time, as of
a swift tread on the flagstones of the corridor. All else was silent
round, and now she could plainly hear those footsteps running rapidly
down the passage away from her. She strained her eyes to see more
clearly, and anon in one of the dim circles of light on ahead she spied
a man's figure--slender and darkly clad--walking quickly yet furtively
like one pursued. As he crossed the light the man turned to look back.
It was her brother Armand.

Her first instinct was to call to him; the second checked that call upon
her lips.

Percy had said that Armand was in no danger; then why should he be
sneaking along the dark corridors of this awful house of Justice if he
was free and safe?

Certainly, even at a distance, her brother's movements suggested to
Marguerite that he was in danger of being seen. He cowered in the
darkness, tried to avoid the circles of light thrown by the lamps in the
passage. At all costs Marguerite felt that she must warn him that the
way he was going now would lead him straight into Chauvelin's arms, and
she longed to let him know that she was close by.

Feeling sure that he would recognise her voice, she made pretence to
turn back to the cubicle through the door of which the wardress had
already disappeared, and called out as loudly as she dared:

"Good-night, citizeness!"

But Armand--who surely must have heard--did not pause at the sound.
Rather was he walking on now more rapidly than before. In less