ot coffee. Ever after it was associated in Armand's
mind with this awful morning in the guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne,
when the rain and snow beat against the windows, and he stood there in
the low guard-room shivering and half-numbed with cold.

There was a table in the middle of the room, and on it stood cups of
hot coffee. Chauvelin bade him drink, suggesting, not unkindly, that the
warm beverage would do him good. Armand advanced further into the room,
and saw that there were wooden benches all round against the wall. On
one of these sat his sister Marguerite.

When she saw him she made a sudden, instinctive movement to go to him,
but Chauvelin interposed in his usual bland, quiet manner.

"Not just now, citizeness," he said.

She sat down again, and Armand noted how cold and stony seemed her eyes,
as if life within her was at a stand-still, and a shadow that was almost
like death had atrophied every emotion in her.

"I trust you have not suffered too much from the cold, Lady Blakeney,"
resumed Chauvelin politely; "we ought not to have kept you waiting here
for so long, but delay at departure is sometimes inevitable."

She made no reply, only acknowledging his reiterated inquiry as to her
comfort with an inclination of the head.

Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the moment he
felt less chilled. He held the cup between his two hands, and gradually
some warmth crept into his bones.

"Little mother," he said in English, "try and drink some of this, it
will do you good."

"Thank you, dear," she replied. "I have had some. I am not cold."

Then a door at the end of the room was pushed open, and Heron stalked
in.

"Are we going to be all day in this confounded hole?" he queried
roughly.

Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she started
at the sight of the wretch, and seemed immediately to shrink still
further within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly luminous and dilated,
rested on him like those of a captive bird upon an approaching cobra.

But Chauvelin was not to be shaken out of his suave manner.

"One moment, citizen Heron," he said; "this coffee is very comforting.
Is the prisoner with you?" he added lightly.

Heron nodded in the direction of the other room.

"In there," he said curtly.

"Then, perhaps, if you will be so good, citizen, to invite him thither,
I could explain to him his future position and our own."

Heron muttered something betwee