way by proverb or catchword; and all the wise
saws of all the nations preach cowardice.

Barebone saw his road now, and Dormer Colville knew that he saw it.

When they crossed the Loire they passed the crisis, and Colville
breathed again like one who had held his breath for long. Those colder,
sterner men of Brittany, who, in later times, compared notes with the
nobles of Guienne and the Vendee, seemed to talk of a different man;
for they spoke of one who rarely laughed, and never turned aside from a
chosen path which was in no wise bordered by flowers.

CHAPTER XXI. NO. 8 RUELLE ST. JACOB

Between the Rue de Lille and the Boulevard St. Germain, in the narrow
streets which to this day have survived the sweeping influence of
Baron Haussmann, once Prefect of the Seine, there are many houses which
scarcely seem to have opened door or window since the great Revolution.

One of these, to be precise, is situated in the Ruelle St. Jacob,
hardly wider than a lane--a short street with a blind end against high
walls--into which any vehicle that enters must needs do so with the
knowledge of having to back out again. For there is no room to turn.
Which is an allegory. All the windows, in fact, that look forlornly at
the blank walls or peep over the high gateways into the Ruelle St. Jacob
are Royalist windows looking into a street which is blinded by a high
wall and is too narrow to allow of turning.

Many of the windows would appear to have gathered dust since those days
more than a hundred years ago when white faces peeped from them and
trembling hands unbarred the sash to listen to the roar of voices in the
Rue du Bac, in the open space by the church of St. Germain des Pres, in
the Cite, all over Paris, where the people were making history.

To this house in the Ruelle St. Jacob, Dormer Colville and Loo Barebone
made their way on foot, on their arrival in Paris at the termination of
their long journey.

It was nearly dark, for Colville had arranged to approach the city and
leave their horses at a stable at Meudon after dusk.

"It is foolish," he said, gaily, to his companion, "to flaunt a face
like yours in Paris by daylight."

They had driven from Meudon in a hired carriage to the corner of
the Champ de Mars, in those days still innocent of glass houses and
exhibition buildings, for Paris was not yet the toy-shop of the world;
and from the Champ de Mars they came on foot through the ill-paved,
feebly lighted s