rude dismissal in its politest form.

"Assuredly," she answered bitterly, making shift to go. "Your visitor is
no doubt political?" she half-asked half-asserted.

But he made no answer as he held the door for her, and bowed low as she
passed out. With a white face and lips tightly compressed she went, and
half-way on the stairs she met a handsome woman, tall and of queenly
bearing, who ascended. Her toilette lacked the elaborateness of
Cecile's, but she carried it with an air which not all the modistes of
France could have succeeded in imparting to the Citoyenne Deshaix.

So dead was Robespierre's niece to every sense of fitness that, having
drawn aside to let the woman pass, she stood gazing after her until she
disappeared round the angle of the landing. Then, in a fury, she swept
from the house and into her waiting coach, and as she drove back to
Duplay's in the Rue St. Honore she was weeping bitterly in her jealous
rage.

CHAPTER XVII. LA BOULAYE'S PROMISE

La Boulaye remained a moment by the door after Cecile's departure;
then he moved away towards his desk, striving to master the tumultuous
throbbing of his pulses. His eye alighted on Cecile's roses, and,
scarce knowing why he did it, he picked them up and flung them behind a
bookcase. It was but done when again the door opened, and his official
ushered in Mademoiselle de Bellecour.

Oddly enough, at sight of her, La Boulaye grew master of himself. He
received her with a polite and very formal bow--a trifle over-graceful
for a patriot.

"So, Citoyenne," said he, and so cold was his voice that it seemed even
tinged with mockery, "you are come at last."

"I could not come before, Monsieur," she answered, trembling. "They
would not let me." Then, after a second's pause: "Am I too late,
Monsieur?" she asked.

"No," he answered her. "The ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval still lies
awaiting trial. Will you not be seated?"

"I do not look to remain long."

"As you please, Citoyenne. I have delayed Ombreval's trial thinking that
if not my letter why then his might bring you, sooner or later, to his
rescue. It may interest you to hear," he continued with an unmistakable
note of irony, "that that brave but hapless gentleman is much fretted at
his incarceration."

A shadow crossed her face, which remained otherwise calm and composed
--the beautiful, intrepid face that had more than once been La Boulaye's
undoing.

"I am glad that you have waited, Monsieur