The student himself sat at the table, a book opened before him.  He was leaning back in his chair, thoughtfully, his mind partly fixed on what he had been reading, partly on other matters.  He was not only a student, but a man of affairs besides.  For most men the affairs would have closed the books permanently, they were sufficient, full enough of ambition and prospect, to do so, but Raymond Latour was not as other men.  Life was a long business, not limited by the fiery upheaval which was shaking the foundations of social order.  There was the afterwards, when the excitement would be burned out, when the loud orators and mad enthusiasts should find no occupation because none wished to hear them talk.  The sudden tide sweeping them into prominence for a moment would assuredly destroy many and leave others stranded and useless, but for a few there was the realization of ambition.  Those few must have power to grapple with their surroundings, brains to hold fast to the high position upon which the tide wave must fling them.  Of these Raymond Latour would be.  The determination was expressed in every feature, in the steel gray eyes, in the firm set mouth, in the square and powerful build of the man.  Nature had given him inches above his fellows, muscles which made them courteous to him; and study had given him the power to use men.  His ability was recognized and appreciated, his companions had thrust him into prominence, at the first somewhat against his will, but carried on the crest of the wave of popularity one easily becomes ambitious.  He was of the Jacobins Club, almost as constant an attendant there as Robespierre himself, holding opinions that were not to be shaken.  He was not of those who had thought the Jacobins slow and had massed themselves, with Danton and the Club of the Cordeliers, nor was he with the milder Lafayette and the Feuillants Club; he was no blind follower of any party, yet he was trusted without being thoroughly understood.  It was difficult to decide which held the higher place with him, his country or his own interests.  He could not have answered the question himself as he leaned back in his chair, a flood of thoughts rushing through his brain, one thought more prominent than the rest, destined perchance to absorb all others.

There were footsteps on the stairs without, and a knocking at the door.  The visitor had swaggered up the Rue Valette, conscious that some turned to look at him as a man to be feared and respected, yet his manner changed as he passed through the alley, the swagger lessened with each step he mounted, and when Latour opened the door to him, the visitor was full of respect, almost cringing respect.  Here was a strange caricature of equality!

“Welcome, Sabatier, I was thinking of you.  What news?”

“The best.  She has come.  To-night she is a league from Paris at the tavern of the Lion d’Or on the Soisy road.”

“Good news, indeed,” Latour answered, and a flush came into his face as he turned away from his visitor as though to hide some weakness in his character.  “How was it accomplished?”