There was some demur, but Robespierre swept it fiercely aside with patriotic arguments. La Boulaye was a stout servant of the Nation, whom it must profit France to let live that he might serve her;Ombreval was a base aristocrat, whose death all true Republicans should aim at encompassing. And so he won the day in the end, and when the sentence of death was passed, it was passed with the reservation that should the prisoner, upon reflection, be inclined to show himself more loyal to France and the interests of the Republic by telling them how Ornbreval might be recaptured, he would find them still inclined to mercy and forgiveness. Allowing his eyes to stray round the Court at that moment, La Boulaye started at sight of an unexpected face. It was Mademoiselle de Bellecour, deathly pale and with the strained, piteous look that haunts the eyes of the mad. He shivered at the thought of the peril to herself in coming into that assembly; then, recovering himself, he turned to his judges.
"Citizen-President, Citizens all, I thank you; but I should be unappreciative of your kindness did I permit you to entertain false hopes. My purpose is unalterable."
"Take him away," the President commanded impatiently, and as they removed him Mademoiselle crept from the Court, weeping softly in her poignant grief, and realising that not so much for the President's ear as for her own had La Boulaye uttered those words.
They were meant to fortify her and to give her courage with the assurance that Ombreval would not be betrayed. To give her courage!
Her lip was twisted into an oddly bitter smile at the reflection, as she stepped into her cabriolet, and bade the driver return to Choisy. Caron was doing this for her. He was casting away his young, vigorous life, with all its wealth of promise, to the end that her betrothed - the man whom he believed she loved - might be spared. The greatness, the nobility of the sacrifice overwhelmed her. She remembered the thoughts that in the past she had entertained concerning this young revolutionist. Never yet had she been able to regard him as belonging to the same order of beings as herself-not even when she had kissed his unconscious lips that evening on the Ridge road. An immeasurable gulf had seemed to yawn between them - the gulf between her nobility and his base origin. And now, as her carriage trundled out of Paris and took the dusty high road, she shuddered, and her cheeks burned with shame at the memory of the wrong that by such thoughts she had done him. Was she, indeed, the nobler? By accident of birth, perhaps, but by nature proper he was assuredly the noblest man that ever woman bore.
In the Place de la Revolution a gruesome engine they called the guillotine was levelling all things, and fast establishing the reign of absolute equality. But with all the swift mowing of its bloody scythe, not half so fast did it level men as Mademoiselle de Bellecour's thoughts were doing that afternoon.
So marked was the disorder in her countenance when she reached Choisy that even unobservant Ombreval whom continuous years of self-complacency had rendered singularly obtuse - could not help but notice it, and - fearing, no doubt, that this agitation might in some way concern himself - he even went the length of questioning her, his voice sounding the note of his alarm.
"It is nothing," she answered, in a dejected voice. "At least, nothing that need cause you uneasiness. They have sentenced La Boulaye to death," she announced, a spasm crossing her averted face.
He took a deep breath of relief.
"God knows they've sentenced innocent men enough. It is high time they began upon one another. It augurs well-extremely well."
They were alone in Henriette's kitchen; the faithful woman was at market. Mademoiselle was warming herself before the fire. Ombreval stood by the window. He had spent the time of her absence in the care of his clothes, and he had contrived to dress himself with some semblance of his old-time elegance which enhanced his good looks and high-born air.
"You seem to utterly forget, Monsieur, the nature of the charge upon which he has been arraigned," she said, in a tired voice.
"Why, no," he answered, and he smiled airily; "he was sufficiently a fool to be lured by the brightest eyes in France into a service for their mistress. My faith! He's not the first by many a thousand whom a woman's soft glances have undone - "
"The degree in which you profit by the service he is doing those bright eyes, appears singularly beneath the dignity of your notice."
"What a jester you are becoming, ma mie," he laughed and at the sound she shuddered again and drew mechanically nearer to the fire as though her shuddering was the result of cold.
"It is yet possible that he may not die," she said almost as if speaking to herself. "They have offered him his liberty, and his reinstatement even - upon conditions."
"How interesting!" he murmured nonchalantly. "They have an odd way of dispensing justice."
"The conditions imposed are that he shall amend the wrong he has done, and deliver up to the Convention the person of one ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval."
"My God!"
It was a gasp of sudden dismay that broke from the young nobleman.
The colour swept out of his face, and his eyes dilated with horror.
Watching him Suzanne observed the sudden change, and took a fierce joy in having produced it.
"It interests you more closely now, Monsieur?" she asked.
"Suzanne," he cried, coming a step nearer, and speaking eagerly;"he knows my whereabouts. He brought me here himself. Are you mad, girl, that you can sit there so composedly and tell me this?"
"What else would you have me do?" she inquired.
"Do? Why, leave Choisy at once. Come; be stirring. In God's name, girl, bethink you that we have not a moment to lose. I know these Republicans, and how far they are to be trusted. This fellow would betray me to save his skin with as little compunction as - "
