“Master Richard, we’re just men, ordinary men, and we cannot do the impossible.  We shall have done all that it is in our power to do, and a ride toward the sea and a ship bound for Virginia would be the best thing for us.”

“You would leave a defenseless woman in the hands of her enemies?” Barrington asked.

“It seems to me she must remain there whether we stay or go.  I’m looking at the matter as it is, and I see no opening for a romantic side to it,” Seth answered.  “You cannot do battle with a whole city, that would mean death and nothing accomplished; you cannot go to these ruffians and demand her release, that would mean death, yours and hers, in the shortest time possible.  No, unless this man Latour keeps his word, I see naught for us but a return to Virginia as quickly as may be.”

“You would never spend another night of sound sleep, Seth.”

“I should, Master Richard.  I should just forget this time as though it had never been, wipe the marks of it off the slate.  He’s a wise man who does that with some of the episodes of his life.”

“I am a fool with a long memory,” said Barrington.

“Ay, but you will grow older, Master Richard; and life is less romantic as we grow older.”

So from Seth there was not much consolation to be had, only sound common sense, which was not altogether palatable just now as Barrington counted the days.  Latour had been very indefinite.  He had said a week, and on waking one morning Barrington’s first thought was that the week ended to-morrow.  It was a proof of his trust in Latour, half unconscious though such trust might be, that he had not expected to hear anything until the week had passed.  He judged Latour by himself.

Seth went out in the morning as usual, looking as true and uncompromising a patriot as any he was likely to encounter in the street.  He rather prided himself on the way he played his part, and wore the tri-color cockade with an air of conviction.  Grim of feature, he looked like a man of blood, a disciple of rioting, and he had more than once noticed that certain people who wished to pass unobserved shrank from him, which pleased him greatly.  Early in the afternoon he returned hurriedly.  It was so unlike him to come up the stairs hastily, two at a time, that Barrington opened the door to meet him.

“Shut it, Master Richard,” he said, as he entered the room.

“What has happened?”

“The unexpected.  Mademoiselle escaped from the Abbaye Prison last night.”

“You are sure!  You have seen Latour?”

“Sure!  The news is all over Paris.  The mob is furious.  There are cries for a general massacre of prisoners, as happened a little while since, so that no others may escape.  There is talk of a house-to-house search, and there are more ruffians in the streets to-day than I have seen at all.”

“Is there any mention of Latour, any suspicion of him?”