“Provincials, eh?”

“Ay, from some corner of France where they breed mutes I fancy,” said Mercier.

“They’re useful maybe, and if Madame Guillotine eats them presently, what matter?  She must have foul food as well as fine.  Any fresh news worth the telling?”

“None,” Mercier answered.

“Then you may save your breath for your journey.  Pass on, citizens.”

They rode forward, slowly for a little way, then faster, but they were soon off the road to Versailles.  The night was dark, a keen wind blowing in their faces, and there were gusts of rain at intervals.  Still Barrington asked no questions.  If this man Mercier were deceiving them, he was at their mercy.  They were out of Paris, leaving it farther behind them every moment.  They had been in Latour’s power, he could have devised no trap for them at the end of this journey.  It would be without reason.  But where was Jeanne?  Could she be somewhere along the road in front of them, or were they leaving her behind?  The thought was horrible, and, curiously, it had not occurred to Barrington until now.  Not only was he inclined to trust Latour, but he could see no possible reason for his helping him to leave Paris unless he intended him to meet Jeanne.  Latour had said such a meeting might be difficult to arrange.  As they rode onward through the night there came a sudden suspicion, a reason for this journey, which Barrington cursed himself for not thinking of before.  It fitted Latour’s character, the good and evil that was in it.  Was Latour getting rid of him by helping him to escape, and so leaving Jeanne entirely in his power with every opportunity to play upon her feelings as best suited his purpose?

“Do we return to Paris presently?” Barrington asked suddenly.

“I do not know, monsieur,” Mercier answered.  “By dawn my part in this business ends, and we part company.”

“I am inclined to return to Paris at once,” said Barrington.

“I would ask you to remember all that Citizen Latour said to you,” was the answer.  “He bid me repeat this to you as constantly as you were inclined to doubt.”

“Do you know what Latour said to me?”

“No.”

“Am I to see Latour at the end of this journey?”

“That I do not know.  I am following out my instructions, but I am convinced that Citizen Latour is acting for your good.”

They rode on in silence again, the beating hoofs of the horses the only sound in the night.

The dawn had not come when Mercier drew rein where two roads forked.

“We will go quietly, monsieur, in case there is danger.  There is a house here we must visit, a wayside inn.”

Barrington let his horse walk but made no answer, and it was evident, by
Seth’s movement in his saddle, that he was prepared for attack.

A mean house, not a light showing from any window, stood by the roadside.  Mercier dismounted and bid his companions do the same.  Having tied the horses to a rail he knocked at the closed door, and Seth touched his master to warn him and draw his attention to the fact that the knock was peculiar and had a signal in it.  The door was opened by a man, his figure outlined against the dim light coming from a room beyond.