“Yes!  Yes!  Go on!” said Merlin excitedly.

“The woman who denounced Deroulede—­that is our trump card,” continued Lenoir, now waxing enthusiastic with his own scheme and his own eloquence.  “She denounced him.  Ergo, he had been her lover, whom she wished to be rid of—­why?  Not, as Citizen Merlin supposed, because he had discarded her.  No, no; she had another lover—­she has admitted that.  She wished to be rid of Deroulede to make way for the other, because he was too persistent—­ergo, because he loved her.”

“Well, and what does that prove?” queried Tinville with dry sarcasm.

“It proves that Deroulede, being in love with the woman, would do much to save her from the guillotine.”

“Of course.”

“Pardi! let him try, say I,” rejoined Lenoir placidly.  “Give him the rope with which to hang himself.”

“What does he mean?” asked one or two of the men, whose dull brains had not quite as yet grasped the full meaning of this monstrous scheme.

“You don’t understand what I mean, citizens; you think I am mad, or drunk, or a traitor like Deroulede? Eh bien! give me your attention five minutes longer, and you shall see.  Let me suppose that we have reached the moment when the woman—­what is her name?  Oh! ah! yes!  Juliette Marny—­stands in the Hall of Justice on her trial before the Committee of Public Safety.  Citizen Foucquier-Tinville, one of our greatest patriots, reads the indictment against her:  the papers surreptitiously burnt, the torn, mysterious letter-case found in her room.  If these are presumed, in the indictment, to be treasonable correspondence with the enemies of the Republic, condemnation follows at once, then the guillotine.  There is no defence, no respite.  The Minister of Justice, according to Article IX of the Law framed by himself, allows no advocate to those directly accused of treason.  But,” continued the giant, with slow and calm impressiveness, “in the case of ordinary, civil indictments, offences against public morality or matters pertaining to the penal code, the Minister of Justice allows the accused to be publicly defended.  Place Juliette Marny in the dock on a treasonable charge, she will be hustled out of the court in a few minutes, amongst a batch of other traitors, dragged back to her own prison, and executed in the early dawn, before Deroulede has had time to frame a plan for her safety or defence.  If, then, he tries to move heaven and earth to rescue the woman he loves, the mob of Paris may,—­who knows?—­take his part warmly.  They are mad where Deroulede is concerned; and we all know that two devoted lovers have ere now found favour with the people of France—­a curious remnant of sentimentalism, I suppose—­and the popular Citizen-Deputy knows better than anyone else on earth, how to play upon the sentimental feelings of the populace.  Now, in the case of a penal offence, mark where the difference would be!  The woman