Pauline turned pale.  “But, citizen—­”

“Believe me, you are perfectly safe here,” said Latour.  “In a few days the people will know that they made a mistake, and you will be a heroine.”

“I will stay here,” she said.  “You are sure the woman who brings my food and looks after these rooms will not betray me?”

“I am certain of that.  She believes you are very dear to me, and she is mine body and soul.  Now I come to the second point.  It is known that this aristocrat is, or was, in Paris.  It is certain that Lucien Bruslart knew this; it is almost certain that he has found her a safe hiding-place.  That makes you angry, but there is something more.  He knew that Jeanne St. Clair was supposed to have been arrested in his apartment, knew that a mistake had been made, but he has taken no steps to put that mistake right.  Is it not possible, even probable, that he knows you were arrested in her place, and that it has suited his plans to remain silent?”

Pauline sprang from her chair, her eyes blazing, her little hands clinched, her whole frame vibrating with the lust for revenge.

“If I thought—­”

“Citizeness, I am your friend,” said Latour.  “We will find out.  At present, Lucien Bruslart is not to be found.  For three days, ever since your escape, mark you, he has not been near his apartment.”

“You shall help me,” said Pauline, savagely.  “I will not yet believe him false, but if he is, he shall pay for it.  I should laugh to see his neck under the knife.”

“You let me into a secret, citizeness, the greatness of your love.”

“Great love like mine means hatred if it is scorned,” she said; and then she added quickly, “But he may have got safely away from Paris.”

There was in her attitude that sudden savagery which a cat shows at the prospect of being robbed of its prey.

“He has not left Paris,” said Latour.

“Even if he had, I should find him,” she said.

Latour left her and returned to his own rooms.

“This woman will find him, once she is let loose,” he muttered.  “I can almost pity Citizen Bruslart, thrice damned villain that he is.  And Barrington?  I must see Barrington.”

CHAPTER XVIII

DR. LEGRAND’S ASYLUM

The Rue Charonne was a long street extending toward the outer limits of the city, and while at one end, near the Chat Rouge Tavern, it was a busy thoroughfare with crowded Streets on either side of it, at the other end it was quiet, and almost deserted in the evenings.  The houses were less closely packed, and there were walls which trees overhung, telling of pleasant and shady gardens.

Behind such a wall the passer-by had a glimpse of the upper windows and steep roof of a house of considerable size.  On one side of it stretched a garden, on the other some outbuildings joined it to another house which had nothing to do with it, but was one of a block of rather old houses which faced the street.