“And—­and who has imposed this strange condition?” he says, at length, quietly, mastering himself.

“Your servant Bertrand, who is all-powerful with Danton and who, he promises, shall obtain the passport by six this evening.”

“Were I not wounded and weak from fever, Madame, believe me, by that hour he would deeply repent having caused you this humiliation,” says Calvert, bitterly.

“My humiliation is a slight thing in comparison with the sacrifice I ask of you, Monsieur.”

“And what of yours?” he asks, gloomily, but he did not look at her.  Had he done so he would have seen love, not self-sacrifice, shining in her appealing eyes.

“But I have influence over this fellow—­he is devoted to me—­he shall do this thing without demanding so great, so fabulous a price for his services,” he goes on, half-speaking to himself.

“’Tis indeed a fabulous price,” she says, paling a little at Calvert’s words and drawing herself up proudly.  “But he fancies he is serving you by imposing this condition, and I confess that I—­I dared not tell him that you no longer loved me, lest I should lose the one hold I had on him.  For d’Azay, for me, he will do absolutely nothing.”  From the shadow of the curtain she watched Calvert’s face for some sign that she was mistaken, that after all he did still love her, that what she had asked of him would be no life-long sacrifice, but the dearest joy.  But none came.  He stood quiet and thoughtful, looking down into the firelight and betraying nothing of the conflict going on within him.  His one thought was to find a way out of this horrible trap for her, or, failing that, to make it as easy as possible for her.  He stilled the wild exultation he felt that was making his feverish pulse leap and sink by turns.  He tried to put away temptation from him—­to think only for her.  This incredible, unlooked-for happiness was not for him.  He searched about in his mind for words that would make her understand that he knew what anguish had driven her to this extremity; that would convince her that she had nothing to fear from him and that he would meet her as he felt sure she wished him to meet her.

“What he asks is madness,” he said, at length.  “I know only too well the insurmountable objections you have to doing what he demands; if I can convince him of these—­if I can convince him that it is also not my wish—­that he can best serve me by not insisting on this thing——­”

“Then, indeed, I think all is lost,” said Adrienne, quietly.  “He professes that he can do nothing for the French emigrant d’Azay, only for the brother of the American, Calvert.  There is no hope left for us except through himself and Danton, since it is already known that d’Azay is to be accused to-morrow, and, indeed, there is scarce time to seek other aid,” she added, despairingly.

“Is Mr. Morris of the opinion that this is the best thing to be done?” asked Calvert, in a low voice.