“Do you imagine I shall go without fulfilling that purpose?  Monsieur de Lafayette, I thank you for your advice, which I know is honestly given.  I thank you for having me here, even for so short a time, for I know the risks you run.  I have many friends in Paris.  Will you help me to reach one of them?”

“What friends?”

“Monsieur Normand.”

“He has been in the Conciergerie some weeks, mademoiselle.”

“Madame de Lentville, then.”

“Also in prison,” answered Lafayette.  “She was caught in her endeavor to leave Paris less than a week ago.”

“Monsieur Bersac,” said Jeanne, but not speaking so readily.

“In heaven, mademoiselle.  The dwellers in the suburbs beyond the Seine remembered that he once called them idlers, accused them of thriving on other men’s industry.  The people have a long memory.”

“They killed him?”

“At the door of his own house.  There is a lantern over it.”

There was silence for some moments.  The color, faded from Jeanne’s face, and the tears came into her eyes.  She forced them back with a great effort.

“There is the Vicomte de Morlieux,” she said, suddenly.

“Alas, mademoiselle, only last night he was the center of a yelling mob which passed beneath these windows bearing him to the Temple.  He is accused, I believe, of assisting the King’s flight, and with showing courage when the Tuileries was attacked.  Surely you understand your danger?”

Barrington had looked from one to the other as they spoke, admiring the woman’s courage, wondering if it were necessary for Monsieur le Marquis to give her such precise information.  He knew she was courageous, but was it wise to try her so severely as this?

“You have said the people remember,” Jeanne said slowly; “they will recollect, then, that I have done something for the poor.  I never thought to boast of my charity, but I will make capital out of it.”

“Unfortunately, the people do not remember good works so easily,” Lafayette answered.  “Believe me, such faith is only grasping at a straw.”

“My faith is strong.  I shall find a lodging in Paris.  I have been a market woman already; if necessary, I can sink to a lower level.  Of my own will I shall not leave Paris again until I have contrived to set Lucien Bruslart free.”

“He is not a prisoner, mademoiselle.  I have already sent for him.”

“Is that safe?” asked Barrington, quickly.  “For you, I mean?”

“I think so.  At any rate, it was necessary.”

“Do you say he is not a prisoner?” said Jeanne.

“He may be here at any moment,” said Lafayette.

“Have we been deceived?” Barrington exclaimed.

“I cannot tell,” Lafayette answered.  “It is true that Monsieur Bruslart was in the Conciergerie, but he speedily convinced the authorities that a mistake had been made.  I believe he is considered a thorough patriot now.”