f the need of speaking. They withdrew
wondering to their pile of straw.

He did not move from the bench where he sat. Soon, except for the heavy
breathing of his companions, silence enveloped the place. He became
absorbed in anxious imaginings.

What had happened when Cyrene and Dominique returned to the house? What
accidents overtook them at the Hotel de Ville? Where was she? What were
her thoughts at that moment? And what her sufferings? Then a picture
flitted across his consciousness of the early days of their meeting, the
life at Fontainebleau, the charm of old Versailles. At the memory of
that taste of a beautiful existence, an unearthly, sorrowful, prophetic
longing came over him, not for himself but for others, for a clime where
falsity, grief, change, and pride should be winnowed completely away
from loveliness. He dreamt a world to come wherein the poor, the
low-born, the deformed, yes, the debased children of crime itself should
become of strong and perfect forms, of sensitive and rich artistic
sense, wealthy as imagination in castles, parks, and solitudes, pure
and keen of honour, spiritually sweet of thought, and so live serene for
ever, for ever, for ever.

As morning grew, a dim light became perceptible from the corridor, and
the prisoners one by one awoke. But Lecour was so weary that he fell
asleep on the bench.

His shoulder was roughly shaken. "Stand up," said a turnkey. Germain
opened his eyes and staggered to his feet.

"Salute the President of the Commune, you----" Before him was a short
man in carmagnole and sabre, whom the other prisoners eyed with
resentment and alarm.

Lecour bowed.

"You have met me before," the stranger said mockingly. "Once in the
Royal hunting grounds of Fontainebleau. It was accidental. Perhaps I
should not presume on the acquaintance."

Lecour perfectly recalled the visitor to the cave. That face once seen
could never be forgotten, and he was overcome by the ominousness of the
meeting. However, he recovered enough to answer sternly--

"Take your revenge; my neck is in your power."

"Judgment must be pronounced on you first. Listen to your judgment,
Sieur de Lincy, or Repentigny. Inasmuch as, years ago, you hunted brave
men who through you were condemned to death, which they suffered on the
wheel; inasmuch as you wickedly murdered the starving peasants of the
parishes of Eaux Tranquilles while in the pursuit of liberty; inasmuch
as you resisted the sovereign pe