“After dark, Monsieur Barrington, I propose to leave you, and take your man with me,” said Sabatier.  “I must get into communication with the vessel that should be lying farther up the river.  Your man will be able to help me to explain, and guarantee my statement.  You are not likely to be disturbed here, but should any one come, say boldly that you are watching for two refugees who are expected here hoping to be taken off by a boat.  Order them to leave you to fulfill your duties.  Here are papers which prove you to be Citizen Roche.  Watch for the boat, and be ready.”

“Shall we not see you again?”

“No.”

“Then, thank you, Citizen Sabatier, for what you have done,” said Barrington.  “We owe you much and have nothing but words to pay the debt.”

“Monsieur, I told you once I had a liking for you; it was true.”

“Is there no more danger?” said Jeanne.

“None, I think, mademoiselle.  It is most improbable that your escape has been discovered.  Citizen Latour is powerful in Paris and in the Convention.  You have been under his care from the first.  I am but the lieutenant of a great man of whom the world will hear much in the days to come.  As he rises to greater heights, so may I.”

“Will you carry back a message to him?” said Barrington.  “Say that with full hearts we thank him for all he has done for us.”

“And tell him,” said Jeanne, “tell him from me that there is one woman in the world who will always pray for him.”

Prayer and Jacques Sabatier had little in common; prayer was a thing to laugh at, so much at least had the Revolution done for France and old superstitions; but he did not laugh now.  “He shall have the message,” he said, holding Jeanne’s hand for a moment, and then suddenly bending down and touching it with his lips.  “He shall certainly have both your messages,” he went on loudly; and, with a swaggering gait, as though he were ashamed of his momentary weakness, he passed out of the room reluctantly followed by Seth, who was apprehensive at having to leave his master again.

The night fell and passed.  Dawn came and the stronger light of morning, a morning of sunshine and blue sky.  The sunlight touched the white sails of a vessel, and a boat, with its oars flashing, came quickly toward the shore where a man and a maid waited hand in hand.

Jacques Sabatier rode back toward Paris.  From high ground he looked and saw a white sail far out to sea, then he rode on.  But the message he carried was never to be delivered.

Citizen Latour, feared in Paris, powerful in the Convention, greater than Robespierre so some had declared, was a traitor.  Justice demanded quick punishment, and the mob, more powerful than Justice, clamored for it.  There was proof enough against him; a score of witnesses if necessary.  Why hear them all?  There was no need for a long trial, and what advocate would have courage sufficient to speak for this prisoner?