thin, with nails that resembled the
talons of a hawk. Armand watched them fascinated as from above they
turned over rapidly the pages of the book; then one long, grimy finger
pointed to a row of names down a column.

"If she is here," said the man curtly, "her name should be amongst
these."

Armand's vision was blurred. He could scarcely see. The row of names was
dancing a wild dance in front of his eyes; perspiration stood out on his
forehead, and his breath came in quick, stertorous gasps.

He never knew afterwards whether he actually saw Jeanne's name there in
the book, or whether his fevered brain was playing his aching senses a
cruel and mocking trick. Certain it is that suddenly amongst a row of
indifferent names hers suddenly stood clearly on the page, and to him it
seemed as if the letters were writ out in blood.

582. Belhomme, Louise, aged sixty. Discharged.

And just below, the other entry:

583. Lange, Jeanne, aged twenty, actress. Square du Roule
No.5. Suspected of harbouring traitors and ci-devants.
Transferred 29th Nivose to the Temple, cell 29.

He saw nothing more, for suddenly it seemed to him as if some one held
a vivid scarlet veil in front of his eyes, whilst a hundred claw-like
hands were tearing at his heart and at his throat.

"Clear out now! it is my turn--what? Are you going to stand there all
night?"

A rough voice seemed to be speaking these words; rough hands apparently
were pushing him out of the way, and some one snatched the candle out
of his hand; but nothing was real. He stumbled over a corner of a loose
flagstone, and would have fallen, but something seemed to catch bold of
him and to lead him away for a little distance, until a breath of cold
air blew upon his face.

This brought him back to his senses.

Jeanne was a prisoner in the Temple; then his place was in the prison of
the Temple, too. It could not be very difficult to run one's head into
the noose that caught so many necks these days. A few cries of "Vive le
roi!" or "A bas la republique!" and more than one prison door would gape
invitingly to receive another guest.

The hot blood had rushed into Armand's head. He did not see clearly
before him, nor did he hear distinctly. There was a buzzing in his ears
as of myriads of mocking birds' wings, and there was a veil in front
of his eyes--a veil through which he saw faces and forms flitting
ghost-like in the gloom, men and women jostling or be