nce in the main was creditably elegant.

"Citizen Ombreval," said La Boulaye, in that stern, emotionless voice
that was becoming characteristic of him, "since you have acquainted
yourself with the contents of the letter you stole from the man you
murdered, you cannot be in doubt as to my intentions concerning you."

The Vicomte reddened with anger.

"For your intentions I care nothing," he answered hotly--rendered very
brave by passion--"but I will have you consider your words. Do you say
that I stole and murdered? You forget, M. le Republican, that I am a
gentlemen."

"Meaning, of course, that the class that so described itself could do
these things with impunity without having them called by their proper
names, is it not so? But you also forget that the Republic has abolished
gentlemen, and with them, their disgraceful privileges."

"Canaille!" growled the Vicomte, his eyes ablaze with wrath.

"Citizen-aristocrat, consider your words!" La Boulaye had stepped close
up to him, and his voice throbbed with a sudden anger no whit less
compelling than Ombreval's. "Fool! let me hear that word again, applied
either to me or to any of my followers, and I'll have you beaten like a
dog."

And as the lesser ever does give way before the greater, so now did
the anger that had sustained Ombreval go down and vanish before the
overwhelming passion of La Boulaye. He grew pale to the lips at the
Deputy's threat, and his eyes cravenly avoided the steady gaze of his
captor.

"You deserve little consideration at my hands, Citizen," said La
Boulaye, more quietly, "and yet I have a mind to give you a lesson in
generosity. We start for Paris in half-an-hour. If anywhere you should
have friends expecting you, whom you might wish to apprise of your
position, you may spend the half-hour that is left in writing to them. I
will see that your letter reaches its destination."

Ombreval's pallor seemed to intensify. His eyes looked troubled as
they were raised to La Boulaye's. Then they fell again, and there was a
pause. At last--.

"I shall be glad to avail myself of your offer," he said, in a voice
that for meekness was ludicrously at variance with his late utterances.

"Then pray do so at once." And La Boulaye took down an inkhorn a quill,
and a sheaf of paper from the mantel-shelf behind him. These he placed
on the table, and setting a chair, he signed to the aristocrat to be
seated.

"And now, Citizen Cadoux," said La Boulaye, tu