d be one of the chief objects of his journey? It had
never occurred to her what she would do if she found the Abbe Foucquet
gone from Boulogne.

"He! la mere! your passport!"

The rough words roused her from her meditations. She had moved forward,
quite mechanically, her mind elsewhere, her thoughts not following the
aim of her feet. Thus she must have crossed the bridge along with some
of the crowd, must have landed on the jetty, and reached the front of
the tent, without really knowing what she was doing.

Ah yes! her passport! She had quite forgotten that! But she had it
by her, quite in order, given to her in a fit of tardy remorse by
Demoiselle Candeille, the intimate friend of one of the most influential
members of the Revolutionary Government of France.

She took the passport from the bosom of her dress and handed it to the
man in the official dress.

"Your name?" he asked peremptorily.

"Celine Dumont," she replied unhesitatingly, for had she not rehearsed
all this in her mind dozens of times, until her tongue could rattle off
the borrowed name as easily as it could her own; "servitor to Citizeness
Desiree Candeille!"

The man who had very carefully been examining the paper the while,
placed it down on the table deliberately in front of him, and said:

"Celine Dumont! Eh! la mere! what tricks are you up to now?"

"Tricks? I don't understand!" she said quietly, for she was not afraid.
The passport was en regle: she knew she had nothing to fear.

"Oh! but I think you do!" retorted the official with a sneer, "and
'tis a mighty clever one, I'll allow. Celine Dumont, ma foi! Not badly
imagined, ma petite mere: and all would have passed off splendidly;
unfortunately, Celine Dumont, servitor to Citizeness Desiree Candeille,
passed through these barriers along with her mistress not half an hour
ago."

And with long, grimy finger he pointed to an entry in the large book
which lay open before him, and wherein he had apparently been busy
making notes of the various passengers who had filed past him.

Then he looked up with a triumphant leer at the calm face of Marguerite.
She still did not feel really frightened, only puzzled and perturbed;
but all the blood had rushed away from her face, leaving her cheeks
ashen white, and pressing against her heart, until it almost choked her.

"You are making a mistake, Citizen," she said very quietly. "I am
Citizeness Candeille's maid. She gave me the passport herself, j