“How did I come here, Citizen Albert?” she asked.  “Well, I will tell you.  I went to deliver some washing.  The lady was not at home, and so I waited; for in these hard times every one needs what little money is coming to him.  In that way it grew dark, and so I fell among these gentlemen—­beg pardon, I would say citizens.  They asked for my pass.  As I did not have it with me, they were going to take me to the guard-house.  I cried out in terror, which brought you to the scene; and as luck would have it, you are a friend.  I said to myself, as M. Albert knows my name to be Solange Ledieu, he will vouch for me; and that you will, will you not, M. Albert?”

“Certainly, I will vouch for you.”

“Very well,” said the leader of the patrol; “and who, pray, will vouch for you, my friend?”

“Danton!  Do you know him?  Is he a good patriot?”

“Oh, if Danton will vouch for you, I have nothing to say.”

“Well, there is a session of the Cordeliers to-day.  Let us go there.”

“Good,” said the leader.  “Citizens, let us go to the Cordeliers.”

The club of the Cordeliers met at the old Cordelier monastery in the Rue l’Observance.  We arrived there after scarce a minute’s walk.  At the door I tore a page from my note-book, wrote a few words upon it with a lead pencil, gave it to the sergeant, and requested him to hand it to Danton, while I waited outside with the men.

The sergeant entered the clubhouse and returned with Danton.

“What!” said he to me; “they have arrested you, my friend?  You, the friend of Camilles—­you, one of the most loyal republicans?  Citizens,” he continued, addressing the sergeant, “I vouch for him.  Is that sufficient?”

“You vouch for him.  Do you also vouch for her?” asked the stubborn sergeant.

“For her?  To whom do you refer?”

“This girl.”

“For everything; for everybody who may be in his company.  Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes,” said the man; “especially since I have had the privilege of seeing you.”

With a cheer for Danton, the patrol marched away.  I was about to thank Danton, when his name was called repeatedly within.

“Pardon me, my friend,” he said; “you hear?  There is my hand; I must leave you—­the left.  I gave my right to the sergeant.  Who knows, the good patriot may have scrofula?”

“I’m coming!” he exclaimed, addressing those within in his mighty voice with which he could pacify or arouse the masses.  He hastened into the house.

I remained standing at the door, alone with my unknown.

“And now, my lady,” I said, “whither would you have me escort you?  I am at your disposal.”

“Why, to Mme. Ledieu,” she said with a laugh.  “I told you she was my mother.”

“And where does Mme. Ledieu reside?”

“Rue Ferou, 24.”

“Then, let us proceed to Rue Ferou, 24.”