unless it be Monsieur le Baron de St.
Aulaire."

"And who is Monsieur de St. Aulaire?" inquired Calvert.

"A most charming man and consummate villain," says Beaufort, with a
gloomy smile. "The _fine fleur_ of our aristocracy, a maker of tender
rhymes, a singer of tender songs, a good swordsman, a brilliant wit, a
perfect courtier, a lucky gambler--in a word, just that fortunate
combination of noble and ignoble qualities most likely to fascinate
Madame de St. Andre," and a shadow settled for a moment on the debonair
face of Monsieur de Beaufort.

It did not need that shadow or that effort at light raillery to inform
Calvert that Beaufort himself was an unsuccessful unit in the "score of
gentlemen who dangled after" Madame de St. Andre, and he would have
essayed to offer his friend some comfort had he known how. But the truth
was that Calvert, never having experienced the anguish and delights of
love, felt a natural hesitation in proffering either sympathy or advice
to one so much wiser than himself.

While he was revolving some expression of interest (it was always his
way to think well before speaking and to keep silent if his thoughts
were not to his entire satisfaction), a sudden murmur, which rapidly
developed into a deep roar as it drew nearer, was heard outside, and at
the Cafe de l'Ecole the shouting ceased and one man's voice, harsh,
incisive, agitated, could be heard above all the others. Looking through
the wide glass doors Calvert and Beaufort saw in the gathering dusk the
possessor of that voice being raised hurriedly upon the shoulders of
those who stood nearest him in the throng, and in that precarious
position he remained for a few minutes haranguing the turbulent mass of
people. Suddenly he sprang down, and, elbowing his way through the
crowd, he entered the Cafe de l'Ecole, followed by as many as could
squeeze themselves into the already crowded room.

"What is it?" Beaufort demanded, languidly, of Bertrand. The man, by
tiptoeing, was trying to see over the heads of the smokers and drinkers,
who had risen to their feet and were applauding the orator who had just
entered.

"It is Monsieur Danton who is come in. He is making his way to the
caisse, doubtless to speak with Madame, his wife. Evidently Monsieur
has just addressed a throng in the Gardens."

"Ah! then 'tis certainly time that we go, since Monsieur Danton invades
the place. 'Tis a poverty-stricken young lawyer from Arcis-sur-Aube, my
dea