“Is that all, Seth?”

“And enough, surely.  It comes from Sabatier, and we know something of him.  It is a trap baited too openly.  You will not go, Master Richard.”

“Not go!  Why, this is the very kind of message I have waited for, but I did not expect it until to-morrow.”

“And I go with you.”

Barrington was thoughtful for a moment.

“No.  We will exercise every caution.  Should escape from Paris seem possible at once, I can send for you or tell you when and where to join me; if I walk into a trap, you will still be at liberty to work for my freedom.”

Seth knew from past experience that all argument was useless, and listened attentively to his master’s instructions.

“If you do not see me, or hear from me within three days, you must act as you think best, Seth.  Whatever my danger I shall have absolute confidence in you.  Mademoiselle once in safety, you shall have your desire; we will ride toward the sea and a homeward-bound ship.”

Twilight was gathering over Paris when Richard Barrington left the house of Monsieur Fargeau and went in the direction of the Rue Charonne.  The wine shops were full to overflowing; small crowds were at street corners, filthy men and women ripe for any outrage.  The names of unpopular deputies were freely and loudly cursed; the most unlikely revolutionists were openly accused of having sympathy with aristocrats.  Some ragged miscreant, whose only popularity rested on some recent brutality, was declared capable of governing better than most of the present deputies, and the mob was more out of hand than it had been for weeks.  At the call of some loud-mouthed patriot, or on the instigation of some screaming virago, a small body of dancing, swearing patriots would move away bent on mischief which would probably end in bloodshed.  A street, more or less tranquil the moment before, would suddenly become a miniature battlefield, an opinion dividing patriots into factions which began to fight savagely.  Anything might happen to-night, another prison might be stormed as the Bastille was, another tenth of August insurrection, another horror equalling the September massacres, anything was possible.  Only a leader a little bolder than the rest was wanting, and all attempt at law and order would be trampled to nothing in a moment by a myriad of feet.

Barrington proceeded carefully with watchful eyes, yet boldly enough not to draw attention to himself.  If a street was in possession of the mob he avoided it, nor did he pass in the light which came from noisy wine shops, but he did not make the mistake of avoiding those who approached him.  His route to the Rue Charonne was therefore a circuitous one, but he came presently to a street which led directly into it, which seemed quieter than many he had passed through, and he took it.