So it was that Mademoiselle St. Clair came to be a guest at the house in the Rue Charonne, brought there for safety by Lucien Bruslart.  She had been there a week when, not far away, Richard Barrington had been obliged to run for his life, and with the help of a man, whose identity the dark entry concealed, had jumped into safety.  Of this she knew nothing; she was as ignorant of what was passing in the city as though hundreds of miles separated her from it.  Lucien had found her a safe retreat, and the time was not so heavy on her hands as she had expected.  Although she chanced upon no intimate friends in Dr. Legrand’s house, she met several acquaintances, men and women she had known something of before the flight to Beauvais.  They had much to talk of in the day, and in the evenings they sang and danced.  If care was heavy upon some of them, smiling faces were made to mask the fact.  Saturday was a day of apprehension, a day of which the ending was greeted with a sigh of relief.  It was the day for paying fees.  Some the inmates paid their own, their purses refilled by friends who were free; the fees of many were paid direct to the doctor by their friends.  This was the arrangement in Mademoiselle St. Clair’s case.  Lucien had told her that it would be the most satisfactory way, and she had given him power to draw on her money for the purpose.  He had a special agreement with Legrand, he said, for Jeanne was there on a different footing from the other guests.  He hinted too that Legrand was under such obligations to him that any favor he asked was practically a command.  It was not until the second Saturday had passed that Jeanne understood all that the payment of these fees meant.  At the table that night there were two empty places, a man’s and a woman’s.  She asked her neighbor, an elderly Abbe, who had lived well all his life until he came to the Rue Charonne and was forever grumbling at the extortion practiced, what had become of them.

“Removed to another prison, mademoiselle.  I did not hear which.”

“But why?”

“They could not afford to remain here.  They are not the first I have seen made bankrupt by Legrand.”

“Ah! this hateful revolution!”

“It will end, mademoiselle.  Already the dogs begin to tear one another, and when that happens, the quarry escapes.”

“It will end, yes; but when?  How long?”

“Before our purses run dry, I trust, mademoiselle,” answered the Abbe, with a smile.

Jeanne had no fear for her own safety, but great compassion for others.  She began to hate the smiling face of Dr. Legrand.  She heard something of the enormous sums he charged, and wondered what Lucien was paying for her, and how long he would have to pay it.  He had said that at least a month must elapse before it would be safe to make an attempt to leave Paris.  Unfortunately, he had to think of his own safety as well as hers.  Poor Lucien!  She had braved Paris to help him, and her presence in the city had only added to his difficulty and danger.  What was he doing day by day to end it all?  Was Monsieur Barrington helping him?  Lucien would be foolish not to accept the help of such a man, so brave, so full of resource, so——­