“Latour?  Raymond Latour?” said Bruslart, starting to his feet, more alert than he had yet been since Barrington had entered the room.

“The same.  What do you know of him?”

“No more than all Paris knows, monsieur, but it is enough.  He is a red republican, a leading man among the Jacobins, hand in glove with all who hate aristocrats.  We need look no further for Jeanne’s betrayer.”

“I am not so certain of his hatred against all aristocrats,” said Barrington, slowly.

“He has a tongue that would persuade the devil himself to believe in him,” said Bruslart.

“And I do not think he knew who was in the coach,” Barrington went on.  “I have a reason for saying so, and I may find out the truth presently.”

“You are a stranger in Paris, you cannot hope to be a match for Raymond Latour.”

“At least there is work for me to do in this matter, and I shall not run needlessly into danger.  Freedom is precious to us both, monsieur, at the present time, since we must use it to help mademoiselle.  You pose as a leader of the people, therefore some authority you must have; tell me, what power have you to open the door of mademoiselle’s prison?”

“Alas, none.”

“Think, think.  Patriotism, wrong headed though it may be, will clothe its enthusiasts with a kind of honor which cannot be bribed, but how many real patriots are there in Paris?  Are the ragged and filthy men and women of the streets patriots?  I warrant a fistful of gold thrown by the man they cursed would bring him a very hurricane of blessings.”

“You do not understand the people, monsieur,” answered Bruslart.  “They would scramble for your gold and cry for more, but they would still curse you.  The mob is king.”

“There is the individual, monsieur,” said Barrington.  “Try a golden key on his cupidity.  I do not mean on a man who is swaggering with new authority, but some jailer in the prison.”

“It might be done,” said Bruslart.

“It can.  It must.  You may use me as you will,” Barrington returned.  “I am ready to take any risk.”

“Mademoiselle would certainly approve your loyalty.”

“I feel that I am responsible for bringing her to Paris,” Barrington answered.  “I would risk my life to carry her safely back to Beauvais.”

Bruslart looked at him keenly for a moment, then held out his hand.

“Monsieur, I am ungenerous, if not in words in my thoughts.  It is not to be supposed that I should be the only man to be attracted by Mademoiselle St. Clair, yet I am a little jealous.  You have had an opportunity of helping her that has not been given to me.  You have been able to prove yourself in her eyes; I have not.  Has not my folly been her ruin?”

“You have the opportunity now,” said Barrington, whose hand was still clasped in Lucien’s.

“You do not understand my meaning.”

“Only that we pledge ourselves to release mademoiselle.”