Those who served Latour were kept busy.  It was a time when loss of popularity might be dangerous, and their master had thrown his into the balance.  His voice had been heard in the Riding Hall where friends were daily being divided and factions made.  He had spoken on behalf of Louis Capet.  The head of a king was not necessary to save France.  He had naught to do with mercy, not even with expedience; Justice spoke louder than either, and Justice would not be served by the death of Louis Capet.  There were some who roared at him, some who shouted for him; it was difficult to tell which side was the more numerous.  Robespierre looked at Latour but said nothing.  Danton tried argument.  Barrere, the President, tried to understand the popular feeling, and failed.  Raymond Latour had many friends, but he turned some old friends into enemies by his speech.  He was farseeing enough to know that his desire for Justice was dangerous, would be doubly so unless his hold upon the different sections of the populace was maintained.  So Sabatier, Mercier, Dubois and the rest had much to do in the districts and among those sections of the populace where they had influence.

Still every morning, Sabatier kept Latour in mind of his private affairs, and argued with him.  He did not wait to receive advice, he gave it, and in such a way that Latour listened.  He was still convinced of Barrington’s deceit, but time was passing and mademoiselle was not found.

“Even if he knows, the American is not a man to betray confidence.  Under like circumstances you would not speak yourself, citizen.”

“True.  I should go to the guillotine as he must.”

“Not yet,” said Sabatier.  “Give him time and opportunity.”

“Curse him,” said Latour.  “I want to hear no more about him, I only want to know that mademoiselle is found.”

In his daily visits to Barrington, Sabatier said little of what was passing in Paris, but much to persuade him to patience; and as he went along the streets he kept his eyes open hoping to see Seth.  He did not see him, yet another man gave him the clew and unwittingly directed him to the house of Citizen Fargeau.

Seth went little abroad in these days.  It was not fear which kept him within doors, but the hope of receiving at any moment further word of his master.  Everything might depend on prompt action when the moment came.  Few men could remain so patiently inactive as Seth, once he was convinced that inaction was the best course to pursue.  This Latour had not lied to him.  The promised letter from Richard Barrington had been given to him, he knew that it was genuine, and was content to obey that letter.  For the time being he was as little interested in politics as Fargeau was, and the news of the king’s trial which came into this quiet retreat had an unreal sound about it, like a faint echo of something happening a great way off.  Richard Barrington filled Seth’s mind, he had little room for any other thoughts.