for any eventuality, and his hand in the pocket of his coat held his pistol, but he was startled at what he saw.  Facing him sat Monsieur le Comte and his friend.  These men had probably robbed him of the gold star, Seth was of the same opinion; certainly they had done their utmost to prevent his finding mademoiselle at the ball.  Were they aristocrats?  If so, they were playing with fire among this crowd of savage-looking patriots.

Monsieur le Comte was drunk, or feigning to be, and Barrington saw him take up the wine bottle and smash it on the table, and heard him declare that the only way to get the emigres into their power was to lie to them and cheat them.  He stayed to hear no more.  Surely this man’s presence there, and his words, meant that he had lied to some purpose, meant that Mademoiselle St. Clair was in the inn.  Her danger was great, for there was no doubt about the savage temper of the crowd in that room.

The door stood open, there was no one in the entrance, and Barrington slipped in.

“The woman upstairs!  The peasant woman!” These were the words that greeted him.  Horrible in their suggestion, they were a guide to him.  He was upon the dark staircase when the rush from the room came, and the man fell upon the threshold.  He drew back to the wall lest he should be seen, and touched some one.  In a moment, for his own safety, he had grasped the arm beside him and then, as he realized that it was a woman he held, put his hand quickly over her mouth to prevent her crying out.  He could not see her clearly, close as she was to him, but touch brought conviction.

“For your life, silence!” he whispered.

Mercier’s threat to shoot the first man who attempted to go to the woman upstairs had its effect, no one was inclined to run the risk, yet several remained about the doorway instead of going back to their wine.  Barrington quickly calculated all the chances.  To leave by the inn door without being seen was impossible; another way must be found, and there was not a moment to lose.  Directly the wine fumes overpowered the man who, for an instant, dominated the situation, these bloodthirsty wretches would certainly rush upon their prey.  The intention was visible in their sullen faces.

“You know me, will you trust me?” he whispered.  He still held her arm, his hand was still over her mouth.

She nodded her head.

“Go up, quietly,” he said, releasing her.

Jeanne knew him.  Few moments had passed since her arm had been gripped in the darkness, but she had lived a long time in them, and exactly when she realized who it was who touched her she did not know.  It never occurred to her to think it strange that he should be alive.  She did not ask herself whether she really trusted him.  At least, he was different from those men below, and she obeyed him.

“Is there another staircase?” he asked when they were in the passage above.