Part 23 (2/2)

A cry, a little cry almost like the whine of a small animal suddenly hurt, escaped from Latour's lips. His strength seemed to go out of him, and he sank into a chair by the table, his face pale, his hands trembling.

”Tell me,” he said, his voice a whisper.

”I cannot say how suspicion first arose, but some one at the barrier must have started it. Whether it was a guess, or whether some one recalled her face some time after she had been allowed to pa.s.s, I do not know, nor does it matter much. It got wind that Mademoiselle St. Clair had entered Paris, and where in Paris would she be most likely to go?--to Citizen Bruslart's. A crowd was quickly on its way there.

Bruslart was away from home, but they would go in, and there they found her. Not an hour ago they were shouting round her as they took her to the Abbaye.”

”There is wine in that cupboard, Sabatier--thanks. This news has taken the nerve out of me. Bruslart must have known she was in his house.

Barrington would leave her there.”

”I am not so sure of that,” said Sabatier. ”I do not know how much this Barrington suspects, but I do not think he is a man to make so obvious a mistake. I give him credit for more cunning, and with reason, I think.”

”And Bruslart must have known the danger,” said Latour.

”He may not, if he supposed mademoiselle had managed to get into Paris unseen. I cannot understand Citizen Bruslart.”

”Dieu! Did he betray her himself, Sabatier?”

”I do not know. If I could see any object in his doing so I might suspect him.”

”The Abbaye,” Latour muttered, getting up and pacing the room. ”The Abbaye. We must get her out, Sabatier. She would never be acquitted. Had she remained in Paris, the good she has done to the poor might have been remembered in her favor, but an emigre, her great name and all that it stands for--. No, she is as surely doomed as any prisoner who has entered the Abbaye. I have business at the prison to-night, Sabatier. I may learn something of her.”

”Wait, citizen. To-morrow will do. You will not be careful enough to-night.”

Latour paused by the table, a little astonished perhaps at the concern in his companion's voice. Sabatier was to be trusted as a man who served well for payment, but his hands had been red often, and it was strange to hear anything like sentiment from his lips.

”One would think you had some real affection for me,” said Latour.

Sabatier swaggered to hide such weakness. ”I am a man, citizen, who fears nothing. I can recognize another man who fears G.o.d or man as little as I do.”

”The wine has cured me,” said Latour. ”I shall do my business, nothing more. I am not a fool. There will be no need of carefulness. Sabatier, to-morrow you must find out what Citizen Bruslart does. His movements may be interesting.”

”And this man Barrington?”

”Leave him to me,” answered Latour.

No man knew better when to wait and when to act than Raymond Latour, and few men had a keener perception of possibilities, of chances which were worth taking, of risks it was unwise to run. He appreciated his own power and influence to the very turn of a hair in the balance, and although to his companions he might exaggerate or underrate that influence to suit the occasion, he never made the fatal mistake of deceiving himself in the matter. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, had his interest been aroused in a prisoner, he would have gone openly to those in authority and put the case before them, with every confidence not only of being listened to, but of getting his request granted. He had a strong following and was too powerful to offend. But for such a prisoner as Mademoiselle St. Clair, he knew that he dare not plead. The strongest man in Paris would be howled down by the mob if he attempted to procure her acquittal. She was closely connected with the best hated families of France, she stood not for herself but for what she represented, and the mob had a.s.sisted at no capture that pleased it more. This knowledge had for a moment robbed Latour of his nerve and courage. Strong man and self-contained as he was, he had not been able to control himself and hide his fear from Jacques Sabatier; yet now, as he pa.s.sed quickly through the streets in the direction of the Abbaye prison, his step was firm, his face resolute, his course of action determined upon.

For an hour he talked with two friends of his who were in charge of this prison of the Abbaye, laughed and rejoiced with them at the arrest of such an important emigre that day; and then, at their prophecy that she would not be long in their keeping, that the tribunal would see to it that she went speedily upon her last journey to the Place de la Revolution, Latour ventured a protest--the first move in his scheme. It was so definite a protest that his companions were astonished.

”What! Does a woman appeal to you? Are you losing your hatred for aristocrats?”

”The woman appeals to me in a curious way,” Latour answered. ”After all, what is she? A little fish out of a great shoal. I would net in the shoal. It is not difficult with this little fish for bait. Do you not see how it is? This little fish is precious to the shoal, and lost, the shoal, or part of it, at any rate, will turn to find her. So long as it is known that she lives, there will be other emigres stealing into Paris to look for Mademoiselle St. Clair.”

”You are right. Delay will be wise,” was the answer.

”Urge it, then,” said Latour, with gleaming, sinister eyes. ”Urge it.

You are the keepers of prisoners and should know best when to spare and when to kill. It is not my business, and I have a name for gentleness in some matters, a reputation which it suits me to preserve, but I am bloodthirsty enough to give you good advice.”

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