. She drew near to her mother, in
whom the brief paroxysm of rage was now succeeded by a no less violent
paroxysm of weeping. On the stairs sounded Guyot's ascending steps.

"Mother," whispered Suzanne, setting her arms about her in a vain
attempt to comfort. Then she heard Charlot's voice curtly bidding Guyot
to reconduct the Marquise to her carriage.

Madame de Bellecour heard it also, and roused herself once more.

"I will not go," she stormed, anger flashing again from the tear-laden
eyes. "I will not leave my daughter."

Charlot shrugged his shoulders callously.

"Take her away, Guyot," he said, shortly, and the sturdy soldier obeyed
him with a roughness that took no account of either birth or sex.

When the Marquise's last scream had died away in the distance, Charlot
turned once more to Suzanne, and it seemed that he sought to compose
his features into an expression of gentleness beyond their rugged
limitations. But the glance of his blue eyes was kind, and mistaking
the purport of that kindness, Mademoiselle began an appeal to his better
feelings.

Straight and tall, pale and delicate she stood, her beauty rendered,
perhaps, the more appealing by virtue of the fear reflected on her
countenance. Her blue eyes were veiled behind their long black lashes,
her lips were tremulous, and her hands clasped and unclasped as she now
made her prayer to the Republican. But in the hardened heart of Charlot
no breath of pity stirred. He beheld her beauty and he bethought him of
his wrongs. For the rest, perhaps, had she been less comely he had been
less vengeful.

And yonder by the hearth stood La Boulaye like a statue, unmoved and
immovable. The Captain was speaking to her, gently and soothingly, but
her thoughts became more taken with the silence of La Boulaye than with
the speech of Charlot. Even in that parlous moment she had leisure to
despise herself for having once--on the day on which, in answer to her
intercessions, he had spared her brother's life--entertained a kindly,
almost wistful, thought concerning this man whom she now deemed a
dastard.

CHAPTER X. THE BAISER LAMOURETTE

Presently Charlot turned to La Boulaye, and for all that he uttered
no word, his glance left nothing to be said. In response to it Caron
stirred at last, and came leisurely over to the table.

"A mouthful of wine, and I'm gone, Charlot," said he in level,
colourless tones, as taking up a flagon he filled himself a goblet.