theorised. 'We can comply, or not comply.'
'In the present instance I am afraid your rule is inapplicable. There is no room for any alternative. We can do nothing but wait.'
She looked at him impatiently, and wearily she sank on to a chair.
'Monsieur,' she said, as calmly as might be, 'I am almost distracted by my thoughts as it is. I don't know whether you are seeking to complete the rout of my senses. Let me beg of you at least not to deal in riddles with me. The time is ill-chosen. Tell me bluntly what is in your mind, if, indeed, anything.'
He turned from her peevishly, and crossed to the window. The twilight was descending, and the little garden was looking grey in the now pallid light. Her seeming obtuseness was irritating him.
'Surely, Mademoiselle,' he exclaimed at last, 'it is not necessary that I should tell you what other course is open to us? It is a matter for our choice whether we depart at once. We have a passport, and—and, enfin, every hour that we remain here our danger is increased, and our chances of escape are lessened.'
'Ah!' She breathed the syllable contemptuously. 'And what of La Boulaye?'
'Pooh! he says himself that he is in no great danger. He is among his fellows. Leave him to extricate himself. After all, it is his fault that we are here. Why should we endanger our necks by waiting his convenience?'
'But surely you forget what he has done for us. You are forgetting that he has rescued you from the guillotine, dragged you out of the very jaws of death. Do you think that to forsake him now would be a fair, an honest return?'
'But name of a name,' rasped the Vicomte, 'does he not say that he is far from despairing? His position is not half so dangerous as ours. If we are taken, there will be an end of us. With him matters are far from being so bad. He is one of the rabble himself, and the rabble will look after its own.'
She rose impatiently.
'Monsieur, I am afraid the subject is not one that we may profitably discuss. I shall obey the voice of my conscience in the matter, and I shall wait until we hear again from La Boulaye. That is the message I am about to return him by his servant.'
The Vicomte watched her fling out of the room, and his weak face was now white with anger. He rapped out an oath as he turned to the window again.
'Mad!' he muttered, through-set teeth. 'Mad as a sun-struck dog. The troubles she has lately seen have turned her head—never a difficult matter with a woman. She talks as if she had been reading Rousseau on the 'Right of man'. To propose to endanger our lives for the sake of that scum, La Boulaye! Ciel! It passes belief.'
But it was in vain that he was sullen and resentful. Suzanne's mind entertained no doubt of what she should do, and she had her way in the matter, sending back Brutus with the message that she would wait until La Boulaye communicated with her again.
That night Caron slept tranquilly. He had matured a plan of escape which he intended to carry out upon the morrow, and with confident hope to cradle him he had fallen asleep.
But the morrow—early in the forenoon—brought a factor with which he had not reckoned, in the person of the Incorruptible himself. Robespierre had returned in hot haste to Paris upon receiving Varennes' message, and he repaired straight to the house of La Boulaye.
Caron was in his dressing-gown when Robespierre was ushered into his study, and the sight of that greenish complexion and the small eyes, looking very angry and menacing, caused the song that the young man had been humming to fade on his lips.
'You, Maximilien!' he exclaimed.
'Your cordial welcome flatters me,' sneered the Incorruptible, coming forward. Then with a sudden change of voice: 'What is that they tell me you have done, miserable?' he growled.
It would have been a madness on Caron's part to have increased an anger that was already mounting to very passionate heights. Contritely, therefore, and humbly he acknowledged his fault, and cast himself upon the mercy of Robespierre.
But the Incorruptible was not so easily to be shaken.
'Traitor that you are!' he inveighed. 'Do you imagine that because it is yours to make high sounding speeches in the Convention you are to conspire with impunity against the Nation? Your loyalty, it seems, is no more than a matter of words, and they that would keep their heads on their shoulders in France to-day will find the need for more than words as their claim to be let live. If you would save your miserable neck, tell me what you have done with this damned aristocrat.'
'He is gone,' answered La Boulaye quietly.
'Don't prevaricate, Caron! Don't seek to befool me, Citizen-deputy. You have him in hiding somewhere. You can have supplied him with no papers, and a man may not travel out of France without them in these times. Tell me—where is he?'
'Gone,' repeated La Boulaye. 'I have set him free, and he has availed himself of it to place himself beyond your reach. More than that I cannot tell you.'
'Can you not?' snarled Robespierre, showing his teeth. 'Of what are you dreaming fool? Do you think that I will so easily see myself cheated of this dog? Did I not tell you that rather would I grant you the lives of a dozen aristocrats than that of this single one? Do you think, then, that I am so lightly to be baulked? Name of God? Who are you, La Boulaye, what are you, that you dare thwart me in this?' He looked at the young man's impassive face to curb his anger. 'Come, Caron,' he added, in a wheedling tone. 'Tell me what you have done with him?'
'I have already told you,' answered the other quietly.
As swift and suddenly as it changed before did Robespierre's humour change again upon receiving that reply. With a snort of anger he strode to the door and threw it open.
'Citizen-lieutenant!' he called, in a rasping voice.
'Here, Citizen,' came a voice from below.
'Give yourself the trouble of coming up with a couple of men. Now, Citizen La Boulaye,' he said, more composedly, as he turned once more to the young man, 'since you will not learn reason you may mount the guillotine in his place.'
Caron paled slightly as he inclined his head in silent submission. At that moment the officer entered with his men at his heels.
'Arrest me that traitor,' Maximilien commanded, pointing a shaking finger at Caron. 'To the Luxembourg with him.'
'If you will wait while I change my dressing-gown for a coat, Citizen-officer,' said La Boulaye composedly, 'I shall be grateful.' Then, turning to his official, 'Brutus,' he called, 'attend me.'
He had an opportunity while Brutus was helping him into his coat to whisper in the fellow's ear:
'Let her know.'
More he dared not say, but to his astute official that was enough, and with a sorrowful face he delivered to Suzanne, a few hours later, the news of La Boulaye's definite arrest and removal to the Luxembourg.
At Brutus's description of the scene there had been 'twixt Robespierre and Caron she sighed heavily, and her lashes grew wet.
'Poor, faithful La Boulaye!' she murmured. 'God aid him now.'
She bore the news to d'Ombreval, and upon hearing it he tossed aside the book that had been engrossing him and looked up, a sudden light of relief spreading on his weak face.
'It is the end,' said he, as though no happier consummation could have attended matters, 'and we have no more to wait for. Shall we set out to-day?' he asked, and urged the wisdom of making haste.
'I hope and I pray God that it may not be the end, as you so fondly deem it, Monsieur,' she answered him. 'But whether it is the end or not, I am resolved to wait until there is no room for any hope.'
'As you will,' he sighed wearily, 'The issue of it all will probably be the loss of our heads. But even that might be more easily accomplished than to impart reason to a woman.'
'Or unselfishness, it seems, to a man,' she returned, as she swept angrily from the room.
CHAPTER XXII. THE TRIBUNAL
