know anything of me, you must realize that it
is not easy to speak of Monsieur Bruslart in this way."

"I know all about you, mademoiselle," Latour answered slowly.

"And hate me. I have heard of Raymond Latour as a hater of aristocrats.
I cannot understand, therefore, why you undertook my rescue from
prison."

"Because you do not know all about me," he said "It is true I am a
republican, a hater of aristocrats. Mademoiselle, you have been good to
the poor in Paris, you are one of the few who have cared anything for
them. Had you not fled, had you not become an emigre, I believe you
could have walked the streets of the city in perfect safety. If for a
moment you will put aside your class prejudice, you must know that the
people have the right with them. They have been ground down, trampled on
for generations, now they have struggled to freedom. If they push that
freedom to excess, can you honestly be astonished? They are but
retaliating for the load of cruelty which has been pressed upon them."

"Monsieur, I am no politician. Many dear friends of mine have been
foully murdered. I look for no better fate for myself."

"I was rather trying to explain my position," said Latour.

"You do not explain your peculiar interest in me."

"You hardly give me time, mademoiselle," he returned with a faint smile.
"Still, you can appreciate that my sympathies are with the people. That
is not the entire truth, however. I had ambition, and the revolution was
my opportunity. A strong man might grasp power, and I would be that
strong man."

"Are there not many others in the Convention with similar ambition?"

"I think not. Whatever power I might obtain was not for my own glory,
but was to be laid at the feet of a woman. Mademoiselle does not
remember, perhaps, a certain day some three or four years since, when
the horses attached to her coach took fright and ran away. They might
have been stopped by the coachman, but they appeared to have got the
better of him. It seemed to a man standing there, a poor student, that
the occupant of that coach was in danger. He rushed forward, and with
some difficulty stopped the horses."

"I remember it perfectly," said Jeanne.

"Mademoiselle, that poor student had in that hour seen a vision from
heaven, a woman so beautiful, so far beyond all other women, that he
worshiped her. He wandered the streets of Paris only to catch a glimpse
of her. He enthroned her on the altar of his soul, and bowe