rre Bounat. "What do you say of him?" he asked.

"He is not fit to live," said the young man solemnly, his breath
coming quick and fast.

"And you?" Barbaroux continued, turning and looking with his eyes of
fire at the wife, his voice gentle, and yet more solemn.

A moment before she had ceased to weep, and had stood up listening and
gazing, awe and wonder in her face. Barbaroux had to repeat his
question before she answered. Then she said, "He is not fit to die."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the entreaties of the
wretch on the floor. At last Barbaroux spoke. "She has said rightly,"
he pronounced. "He shall live. They have put us out of the law and set
a price on our heads; but we will keep the law. He shall live. But,
hark you," the great orator continued, in tones which Michel never
forgot, "if a whisper escape you as to our presence here, or our
names, or if you wrong your wife by word or deed, the life she has
saved shall pay for it.

"Remember!" he added, shaking Michel to and fro with a finger, "the
arm of Barbaroux is long, and though I be a hundred leagues away, I
shall know and I shall punish. So, beware! Now rise, and live!"

The miserable man cowered back to the wall, frightened to the core of
his heart. The Girondins conferred a while in whispers, two of their
number assisting Pierre to cross the barrier. Suddenly there came--and
Michel trembled anew as he heard it--a loud knocking at the door. All
started and stood listening and waiting. A voice outside cried: "Open!
open! in the name of the law!"

"We have lingered too long," Barbaroux muttered. "I should have
thought of this. It is the Mayor of Carbaix come to apprehend our
friend."

Again the Girondins conferred together. At last, seeming to arrive at
a conclusion, they ranged themselves on either side of the door, and
one of their number opened it. A short, stout man, girt with a
tricolor sash, and wearing a huge sword, entered with an air of
authority--being blinded by the light he saw nothing out of the
common--and was followed by four men armed with muskets.

Their appearance produced an extraordinary effect on Michel Tellier.
As they one by one crossed the threshold, the peasant leaned forward,
his face flushed, his eyes gleaming, and counted them. They were only
five. And the others were twelve. He fell back, and from that moment
his belief in the Girondins' power was clinched.

"In the name of the law!" panted the ma