ndry
expenses in which the service of the Republic had involved him. Last but
not least, remembering to what extremities women will proceed and how
they go in a flash from the most ardent tenderness to the coldest
indifference, and how easy they find it to sacrifice what once they held
dear and destroy what once they adored, he began to suspect that some
day his fascinating mistress might have him thrown into prison to get
rid of him. Common prudence urged him to regain his lost ascendancy and
to this end he had come armed with all his fascinations. He came near,
drew away, came near again, hovered round her, ran from her, in the
approved fashion of seduction in the ballet. Then he threw himself in an
armchair and in his irresistible voice, his voice that went straight to
women's hearts, he extolled the charms of nature and solitude and with a
lovelorn sigh proposed an expedition to Ermenonville.

Meanwhile she was striking chords on her harp and looking about her with
an expression of impatience and boredom. Suddenly Henry got up with a
gesture of gloomy resolution and informed her that he was starting for
the army and in a few days would be before Maubeuge.

Without a sign either of scepticism or surprise she nodded her approval.

"You congratulate me on my decision?"

"I do indeed."

She was expecting a new admirer who was infinitely to her taste and from
whom she hoped to reap great advantages,--a contrast in every way to the
old, a Mirabeau come to life again, a Danton rehabilitated and turned
army-contractor, a lion who talked of pitching every patriot into the
Seine. She was on tenter-hooks, thinking to hear the bell ring at any
moment.

To hasten Henry's departure, she fell silent, yawned, fingered a score,
and yawned again. Seeing he made no move to go, she told him she had to
go out and withdrew into her dressing-room.

He called to her in a broken voice:

"Farewell, Louise!... Shall I ever see you again?"--and his hands were
busy fumbling in the open writing-desk.

When he reached the street, he opened the letter addressed to the
_citoyen_ Rauline and read it with absorbed attention. Indeed it drew a
curious picture of the state of public feeling in France. It spoke of
the Queen, of the actress Rose Thevenin, of the Revolutionary Tribunal
and a host of confidential remarks emanating from that worthy, Brotteaux
des Ilettes, were repeated in it.

Having read to the end and restored the missive to hi