ough to deceive friends and foes
as it suited him; even Latour was doubtful how to place him. He was a
handsome man, and had found that count for something even in
Revolutionary Paris; he was a determined man, with wit, and that art of
appearing to hide nothing. An aristocrat! By the misfortune of birth
that was all. A patriot! It was a safe profession. Luxury! Why not?

"Is my country in need of my services?"

"Always; but this happens to be a private matter," Latour answered.
"You have been in the Conciergerie, citizen."

"It is not very long since I was released," was the answer.

"Fear touched you in the Conciergerie."

"Narrow walls and uncertainty are unpleasant. You will know what I mean
if you should ever be as unfortunate as I was."

"And a servant, fearful for your safety, fled to your friends for help.
Is that so?"

"I have heard it since my release. He is a faithful fellow, and acted on
his own initiative."

"Entirely?" asked Latour.

"Entirely. Let me be fair to him. I do not fear danger, citizen, but I
have eyes to see its existence. It exists for honest men as well as
others, and I have said to Rouzet, that was his name, 'If harm should
come to me try and carry news to those who still love me in spite of the
fact that I have turned patriot,' I even gave him a little gold trinket
that it might be known his news was true."

"Since your release have you sent another messenger to prevent
Mademoiselle St. Clair from coming to Paris?"

"She is coming to Paris!" Bruslart exclaimed, half rising.

"Have you taken any steps to prevent her doing so?" asked Latour.

"Do you suppose I would have called her here on my account? She is not a
patriot. She would come to her death."

"That might be a way in which you could serve your country; a decoy to
attract lovers and friends."

"Are you serious? Is this the meaning of your visit?"

"What is your answer to it?"

"Rather the guillotine, citizen. Is the answer short and definite
enough?"

"Short enough and well spoken," said Latour, with a smile. "You will
rejoice to hear that your messenger never reached mademoiselle."

For an instant Bruslart seemed surprised, but it was impossible to tell
whether it was at the failure or at the fact that his visitor knew so
much.

"If you can assure me this is true, I shall rejoice," he said. "I have
been imprudent. It did not occur to me that she might come to Paris."

"A woman who loves will do much."

"I