of service to
Jeanne.

He reached the Quai de l'Horloge soon after nine. The grim, irregular
walls of the Chatelet and the house of Justice loomed from out the
mantle of mist that lay on the river banks. Armand skirted the square
clock-tower, and passed through the monumental gateways of the house of
Justice.

He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls and
corridors of the Tribunal, to which the public had access whenever the
court was sitting. The sittings began at ten, and already the usual
crowd of idlers were assembling--men and women who apparently had no
other occupation save to come day after day to this theatre of horrors
and watch the different acts of the heartrending dramas that were
enacted here with a kind of awful monotony.

Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and anon
moved slowly up the gigantic flight of stone steps, talking lightly on
indifferent subjects. There was quite a goodly sprinkling of workingmen
amongst this crowd, and Armand in his toil-stained clothes attracted no
attention.

Suddenly a word reached his ear--just a name flippantly spoken by
spiteful lips--and it changed the whole trend of his thoughts. Since he
had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of Jeanne, and--in
connection with her--of Percy and his vain quest of her. Now that
name spoken by some one unknown brought his mind back to more definite
thoughts of his chief.

"Capet!" the name--intended as an insult, but actually merely
irrelevant--whereby the uncrowned little King of France was designated
by the revolutionary party.

Armand suddenly recollected that to-day was Sunday, the 19th of January.
He had lost count of days and of dates lately, but the name, "Capet,"
had brought everything back: the child in the Temple; the conference in
Blakeney's lodgings; the plans for the rescue of the boy. That was to
take place to-day--Sunday, the 19th. The Simons would be moving from the
Temple, at what hour Blakeney did not know, but it would be today, and
he would be watching his opportunity.

Now Armand understood everything; a great wave of bitterness swept over
his soul. Percy had forgotten Jeanne! He was busy thinking of the child
in the Temple, and whilst Armand had been eating out his heart with
anxiety, the Scarlet Pimpernel, true only to his mission, and impatient
of all sentiment that interfered with his schemes, had left Jeanne to
pay with her life for the s