under this menace
of death. I deserved to die, and should have resigned myself to the
guillotine but for you. From the course taken by public events, I
knew you would be saved; and although your safety was the work of
circumstances, still I had a hand in rendering it possible at the
outset; and a yearning came over me to behold you both free again with
my own eyes--a selfish yearning to see in you a living, breathing, real
result of the one good impulse of my heart, which I could look back
on with satisfaction. This desire gave me a new interest in life. I
resolved to escape death if it were possible. For ten days I lay hidden
in Paris. After that--thanks to certain scraps of useful knowledge which
my experience in the office of secret police had given me--I succeeded
in getting clear of Paris and in making my way safely to Switzerland.
The rest of my story is so short and so soon told that I may as well get
it over at once. The only relation I knew of in the world to apply to
was a cousin of mine (whom I had never seen before), established as a
silk-mercer at Berne. I threw myself on this man's mercy. He discovered
that I was likely, with my business habits, to be of some use to him,
and he took me into his house. I worked for what he pleased to give me,
traveled about for him in Switzerland, deserved his confidence, and won
it. Till within the last few months I remained with him; and only left
my employment to enter, by my master's own desire, the house of his
brother, established also as a silk-mercer, at Chalons-sur-Marne. In the
counting-house of this merchant I am corresponding clerk, and am only
able to come and see you now by offering to undertake a special business
mission for my employer at Paris. It is drudgery, at my time of life,
after all I have gone through--but my hard work is innocent work. I
am not obliged to cringe for every crown-piece I put in my pocket--not
bound to denounce, deceive, and dog to death other men, before I can
earn my bread, and scrape together money enough to bury me. I am ending
a bad, base life harmlessly at last. It is a poor thing to do, but it is
something done--and even that contents a man at my age. In short, I am
happier than I used to be, or at least less ashamed when I look people
like you in the face."

"Hush! hush!" interrupted Rose, laying her hand on his arm. "I cannot
allow you to talk of yourself in that way, even in jest."

"I was speaking in earnest," answered Lom