amends for the atrocious manner of their lives, and such a glamour did
they shed upon themselves by the same brave manner, that it compelled
sympathy and admiration of those that beheld them, and made upon
humanity an impression deep enough to erase the former impression left
by their misdeeds.

Like heroes, like sainted martyrs, they died, these men who, through
generation after generation, had ground and crushed the people 'neath
the iron heel of tyranny and oppression, until the people had, of a
sudden, risen and reversed the position, going to excesses, in their
lately-awakened wrath, that were begotten of the excesses which for
centuries they had endured.

Last of this gallant and spruce company (for every man had donned his
best, and dressed himself with the utmost care) came Caron La Boulaye.
He walked alone, for although their comrade in death, he was their
comrade in nothing else. Their heads might lie together in the sawdust
of Sanson's basket, but while they lived, no contact would they permit
themselves, of body or of soul, with this sans-culotte. Had they known
why he died, perhaps, they had shown him fellowship. But in their
nescience of the facts, it would need more than death to melt them into
a kindness to a member of the Convention, for death was the only thing
they had in common, and death, as we have seen, had not conquered them.

As he was about to pass out, a gaoler suddenly thrust forward a hand
to detain him, and almost simultaneously the door, which had swung to
behind the last of his death-fellows, re-opened to admit the dapper
figure of the Incorruptible.

He eyed Caron narrowly as he advanced into the hall, and at the
composure evident in the young man's bearing, his glance seemed to
kindle with admiration, for all that his lips remained cruel in their
tightened curves.

Caron gave him good-day with a friendly smile, and before Robespierre
could utter a word the young man was expressing his polite regrets at
having baulked him as he had done.

"I had a great object to serve, Maximilien," he concluded, "and my only
regret is that it should have run counter to your wishes. I owe you so
much--everything in fact--that I am filled with shame at the thought of
how ill a return I am making you. My only hope is that by my death you
will consider that I have sufficiently atoned for my ingratitude."

"Fool!" croaked Robespierre, "you are sacrificing yourself for some
chimaera and the life you