me to suffer, citizen,
let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very friendless
to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask such a favor.
Let the Republic give me this."

"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she
gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their shaving--once
for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress a wound on his
back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let himself down
from the window. We will have no more such games. You may be training
the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down and kill it."

Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his
breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are
times in life when the brute creation contrasts favorably with the lords
thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now.

Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing such
a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to stay
here to be bitten or spit at, Francois, my friend," said he, "I am not.
Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic is
far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more ways of
taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou not see?"
And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the prisoner;
and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion out of the
cell, and locked the door after them.

"And so, my friend--my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly,
"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud.
Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little
while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another
master, when I am summoned before mine."

Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. Francois, on whose
stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people stupid
in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. Antoine's
evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk about the
too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in secret," and
permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine was examined
and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the Viscount was
summoned before the revolutionary tribunal.

There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days
preceded sentence. In every line of his be