That done, La Boulaye sent Guyot below to his post once more, and returning to the room in which they had supped, he paced up and down for a full hour, revolving in his mind the matter of saving Mademoiselle and her mother. At last, towards ten o'clock, he opened the casement, and calling down to Guyot, as Charlot had done, he bade him bring the women up again. Now Guyot knew of the high position which Caron occupied in the Convention, and he had seen the intimate relations in which he stood to Tardivet, so that unhesitatingly he now obeyed him.
La Boulaye closed the window, and crossed slowly to the fire. He stirred the burning logs with his boot, then stood there waiting.
Presently the stairs creaked, next the door opened, and Guyot ushered in Mademoiselle.
"The elder citoyenne refuses to come, Citizen-deputy," said the soldier. "They both insisted that it was not necessary, and that the Citoyenne here would answer your questions."
Almost on the point of commanding the soldier to return for the Marquise, Caron caught the girl's eye, and her glance was so significant that he thought it best to hear first what motives she had for thus disobeying him.
"Very well,"he said shortly. "You may go below, Guyot. But hold yourself in readiness lest I should have need of you."
The soldier saluted and disappeared. Scarce was he gone when Mademoiselle came hurrying forward.
"Monsieur Caron," she cried "Heaven is surely befriending us. The soldiers are drinking themselves out of their wits. They will be keeping a slack watch presently."
He looked at her for a moment, fathoming the purport of what she said.
"But," he demanded at last, "why did not the Marquise obey my summons, and accompany you?"
"She was afraid to leave the coach, Monsieur. Moreover, she agreed with me that it would not be necessary."
"Not necessary?" he echoed. "But it is necessary. When last you were here I told you I did not intend you should return to the coach.
This is my plan, Citoyenne. I shall keep Guyot waiting below while you and your mother are fortifying yourselves by supper here. Then I shall dismiss him with a recommendation that he keep a close watch upon the carriage, and the information that you will not be returning to it to-night. A half-hour later or so, when things are quiet, I shall find a way out for you by the back, after which the rest must remain in your hands. More I cannot do."
"You can," she cried; "you can."
"If you will enlighten me,"said he, with the faintest touch of irony.
She looked at his stern, sardonic face and solemn grey eyes, and for a moment it almost seemed to her that she hated him more than anybody in the world. He was so passionless, so master of himself, and he addressed her in a tone which, whilst it suggested that he accounted himself most fully her equal, made her feel that he was really her better by much. If one of these two was an aristocrat, surely that one was the Citizen-deputy La Boulaye.
"If you had but the will you would do it, Monsieur,"she answered him. "It is not mine to enlighten you; I know not how."
"I have the very best will in the world, Citoyenne," said he. "Of that I think that I am giving proof."
"Aye, the will to do nothing that will shame your manhood," she rejoined. "That is all you think of. It was because your manhood bade you that you came to my rescue - so you said when you declined my thanks. It is this manhood of yours, I make no doubt, that is now prevailing upon you to deliver two unprotected women out of the hands of these brigands."
"In Heaven's name, Citoyenne," quoth the astonished Deputy, "out of what sentiment would you have me act, and, indeed, so that I save you, how can it concern you by what sentiment I am prompted?"
She paused a moment before replying. Her eyes were downcast, and some of the colour faded from her cheeks. She carne a step nearer, which brought her very close to him.
"Monsieur,"she faltered very shyly, "in the old days at Bellecour you would have served me out of other sentiments."
He started now in spite of himself, and eyed her with a sudden gleam of hope, or triumph, or mistrust, or perhaps of all three. Then his glance fell, and his voice was wistful.
"But the old days are dead, Mademoiselle."
"The days, yes," she answered, taking courage from his tone. "But love Monsieur, is everlasting - it never dies, they say."