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Terribly leaden-footed had this week of waiting been to Richard Barrington. He had not seen Lucien Bruslart, although each afternoon he had passed the wine shop with the sign of the three barrels. He had nothing to occupy him, and for most of the day he remained within doors.

From that time lovers were attributed to her, and it is certain that her conduct became more light. She scarcely concealed her liaison with Guérin de Bruslart, the leader of the Norman Chouans, the successor of Frotté, and a true type of the romantic brigand, who managed to live for ten years in Normandy and even in Paris, without falling into one of the thousand traps set for him by Fouché.

"My opinion of Monsieur Barrington is at present in the balance," said Latour; "Lucien Bruslart I know to be a scoundrel. The release of Pauline Vaison naturally frightened Bruslart, who has gone into hiding and is not to be found. Barrington is not a coward, and it was easy to secure him. I saved him from the mob, but I kept him a prisoner.

Sabatier had told her nothing except that she was safe, and that the man who had planned her rescue would come to her and explain everything. She would think it was Lucien Bruslart. Who would be so likely to run such risk for her sake? Only one other man might occur to her, the man who had already done so much to help her Richard Barrington. Would she be likely to sleep easily to-night? No.

Legrand, whether you are fully aware of Monsieur Bruslart's position and my own?" "I think so, mademoiselle. You were, I believe, to be man and wife." His suggestion that such a thing was now impossible was not lost upon Jeanne and was a little startling. Did he believe that Lucien Bruslart was a scoundrel? "Do you know that the fees paid to you by Lucien Bruslart are paid out of my money?"

Latour had it firmly fixed in his mind that he was in league with Bruslart, and it seemed that nothing short of a miracle would drive this idea out of his mind. Barrington could conceive no way in which he could convince him, and the thought that all this while Jeanne was in peril almost drove him mad. Could he escape?

So there was hope in the mean little soul of Lucien Bruslart, even though the prison doors were still closed upon him. With the gathering night came a cyclone. Against Pauline Vaison there could be no accusation, no matter what the prisoner Bruslart had said, she was the darling of the mob; but for the others, the deputy, the aristocrat, and the American, there could be no mercy.

Yes, his master, the Citizen Bruslart was in, was the answer to his inquiry, and the suspicion of a smile touched Latour's face at the man's hesitation. After waiting a few moments he was announced, and smiled again a little as he entered a room on the first floor, it was so unlike his own, even as the occupant was unlike him.

"As the devil," she answered. "No, I want to do the talking. You sit down and listen." "Nothing will please me better," Bruslart returned, smiling. "I have been forced to go into hiding, and have lost touch with events." "And I have been in prison." "In prison! You!" "Strange, isn't it? I dare say the story will interest you, but there are other things to talk of first.

I can drop a spark or two in different directions, and the mob is tow. The fire will spread." "But if it does not?" asked Barrington. "You are depressing, monsieur." "I want to act." "It must be with caution," said Bruslart, "and with deceit. We can make no appeal to justice, because justice does not exist in Paris." "I have nothing to say against your plans," Barrington returned.