ave caught sight of Toussac,' said my companion. 'I am
afraid that he is too strong and too cunning to be taken by them. I do
not know what impression he left upon you, but I can tell you that you
will go far to meet a more dangerous man.'

I answered that I would go far to avoid meeting one, unless I had the
means of defending myself, and my companion's dry chuckle showed that he
appreciated my feelings.

'Yet he is an absolutely honest man, which is no very common thing in
these days,' said he. 'He is one of those who, at the outbreak of the
Revolution, embraced it with the whole strength of his simple nature.
He believed what the writers and the speakers told him, and he was
convinced that, after a little disturbance and a few necessary
executions, France was to become a heaven upon earth, the centre of
peace and comfort and brotherly love. A good many people got those fine
ideas into their heads, but the heads have mostly dropped into the
sawdust-basket by this time. Toussac was true to them, and when instead
of peace he found war, instead of comfort a grinding poverty, and
instead of equality an Empire, it drove him mad. He became the fierce
creature you see, with the one idea of devoting his huge body and
giant's strength to the destruction of those who had interfered with his
ideal. He is fearless, persevering, and implacable. I have no doubt at
all that he will kill me for the part that I have played to-night.'

It was in the calmest voice that my companion uttered the remark, and it
made me understand that it was no boast when he said there was more
courage needed to carry on his unsavoury trade than to play the part of
a _beau sabreur_ like Lasalle. He paused a little, and then went on as
if speaking to himself.

'Yes,' said he, 'I missed my chance. I certainly ought to have shot
him when he was struggling with the hound. But if I had only wounded
him he would have torn me into bits like an over-boiled pullet, so
perhaps it is as well as it is.'

We had left the salt-marsh behind us, and for some time I had felt the
soft springy turf of the downland beneath my feet, and our path had
risen and dipped over the curves of the low coast hills. In spite of
the darkness my companion walked with great assurance, never hesitating
for an instant, and keeping up a stiff pace which was welcome to me in
my sodden and benumbed condition. I had been so young when I left my
native place that it is doubtful