“You will not ask me to promise to act on your advice,” Barrington returned with a smile.

“No,” and then Lafayette looked earnestly into his face.  “No, I do not expect you to act upon it.  For most of us some woman is a curse or a blessing, and the utmost a man can do is to satisfy himself which she is.  If she is worthy, I would not call that man friend who was not ready to risk all for her.  God grant we both win through to more peaceful days.”

Early in the afternoon Barrington went out, leaving Seth in the lodging.  Seth suggested that he should be allowed to go with him.

“You must be free to work should I be caught and unable to act for myself,” was the answer.  “After to-night I shall be able to make more definite plans.  Under certain circumstances there will be nothing to prevent us setting out upon our return journey to Virginia.  Believe me, Seth, I have not yet fallen in love with Paris.”

Seth watched him go, knowing that his resolution was not to be shaken, realizing, too, that there was reason in his argument.

“I couldn’t understand any one being in love with Paris,” he said to himself; “but there’s a woman has Master Richard in her net.  Love is a disease, the later caught, the worse it is.  I wonder what his mother would have thought of this lady from Beauvais.  And she doesn’t care a handful of Indian corn for Master Richard as far as I can see; only makes use of him to get to another man.  Falling in love with a woman of that kind seems a waste of good energy to me, but it’s wonderful how many men have done it.”

Richard Barrington had no intention of running into unnecessary danger.  This man Mercier had no proof that he had helped Mademoiselle St. Clair to escape from the Lion d’Or.  Paris was a big place, and he might never chance upon Jacques Sabatier.  He had no intention of making any further use of Lafayette’s name for the present, since it was evident that he might involve his friend in difficulty if he did.  He was a Virginian gentleman in Paris privately.  He was content to remain unknown if they would let him.  If they grew inquisitive, his nationality should be in his favor, and the fact that he had come to offer his sword on the side of the people would be his safety.  If he had made a few enemies by thwarting private plans, he had surely the power of making a thousand friends.  So far his scheme was complete, but he was not thinking of it as he made his way toward the more central part of the city, taking care to appear as little of a stranger as possible.  Was Lucien Bruslart to be trusted?  This was the question he asked himself over and over again, finding no satisfactory answer.  The reason which lay behind such a question could not be ignored.  Any helpless woman would have appealed to him, he told himself, but the whole truth refused to be confined in such an argument.  Jeanne St. Clair meant something more to him than this, but in this direction he refused