ng to complete
the rout of my senses. Let me beg of you at least not to deal in riddles
with me. The time is ill-chosen. Tell me bluntly what is in your mind,
if, indeed, anything."

He turned from her peevishly, and crossed to the window. The twilight
was descending, and the little garden was looking grey in the now pallid
light. Her seeming obtuseness was irritating him.

"Surely, Mademoiselle," he exclaimed at last, "it is not necessary that
I should tell you what other course is open to us? It is a matter for
our choice whether we depart at once. We have a passport, and--and,
enfin, every hour that we remain here our danger is increased, and our
chances of escape are lessened."

"Ah!" She breathed the syllable contemptuously. "And what of La
Boulaye?"

"Pooh! he says himself that he is in no great danger. He is among his
fellows. Leave him to extricate himself. After all, it is his fault
that we are here. Why should we endanger our necks by waiting his
convenience?"

"But surely you forget what he has done for us. You are forgetting that
he has rescued you from the guillotine, dragged you out of the very
jaws of death. Do you think that to forsake him now would be a fair, an
honest return?"

"But name of a name," rasped the Vicomte, "does he not say that he is
far from despairing? His position is not half so dangerous as ours. If
we are taken, there will be an end of us. With him matters are far from
being so bad. He is one of the rabble himself, and the rabble will look
after its own."

She rose impatiently.

"Monsieur, I am afraid the subject is not one that we may profitably
discuss. I shall obey the voice of my conscience in the matter, and I
shall wait until we hear again from La Boulaye. That is the message I am
about to return him by his servant."

The Vicomte watched her fling out of the room, and his weak face was
now white with anger. He rapped out an oath as he turned to the window
again.

"Mad!" he muttered, through-set teeth. "Mad as a sun-struck dog. The
troubles she has lately seen have turned her head--never a difficult
matter with a woman. She talks as if she had been reading Rousseau on
the 'Right of man'. To propose to endanger our lives for the sake of
that scum, La Boulaye! Ciel! It passes belief."

But it was in vain that he was sullen and resentful. Suzanne's mind
entertained no doubt of what she should do, and she had her way in the
matter, sending back Brutus with the message