ed in volume and grew shriller. "What is that?" he inquired.

The gaoler, on whose dirty face some measure of surprise was manifested,
approached the little grating that overlooked the yard and peered out.

"Sacrenom!" he swore. "The tumbrils are moving. They have left you
behind, Citizen."

But La Boulaye gathered no encouragement, such as the gaoler thought he
might, from that contingency. He but imagined that it was Robespierre's
wish to put him back for another day in the hope that he might still
loosen his tongue. An oath of vexation broke from him, and he stamped
his foot impatiently upon the floor.

Then the door opened suddenly, and Robespierre held it whilst into the
room came a woman, closely veiled, whose tall and shapely figure caused
the young Deputy's breath to flutter. The Incorruptible followed her,
and turning to the gaoler:

"Leave us," he commanded briskly.

And presently, when those three stood alone, the woman raised her veil
and disclosed the face he had expected--the beautiful face of Suzanne
de Bellecour, but, alas! woefully pale and anguished of expression. She
advanced a step towards Caron, and then stood still, encountering his
steadfast, wonder-struck gaze, and seeming to falter. With a sob, at
last she turned to Maximilien, who had remained a pace or two behind.

"Tell him, Monsieur," she begged.

Robespierre started out of his apparent abstraction. He peered at her
with his short-sighted eyes, and from her to Caron. Then he came forward
a step and cleared his throat, rather as a trick of oratory than to
relieve any huskiness.

"To put it briefly, my clear Caron," said he, "the Citoyenne here has
manifested a greater solicitude for your life than you did yourself, and
she has done me the twofold service of setting it in my power to punish
an enemy, and to preserve a friend from a death that was very imminent.
In the eleventh hour she came to me to make terms for your pardon.
She proposed to deliver up to me the person of the ci-devant Vicomte
d'Ombreval provided that I should grant you an unconditional pardon.
You can imagine, my good Caron, with what eagerness I agreed to her
proposal, and with what pleasure I now announce to you that you are
free."

"Free!" gasped La Boulaye, his eyes travelling fearfully from
Robespierre to Mademoiselle, and remaining riveted upon the latter as
though he were attempting to penetrate into the secrets of her very
soul.

"Practically free," ans