He was gone, leaving us to marvel at his strange words.  Mme. la Marquise after that was just like a person in a dream.  She hardly spoke to me, and the only sound that passed her lips was a quaint little lullaby which she sang to M. le Vicomte ere he dropped off to sleep.

The hours went by leaden-footed.  At every sound on the stairs Madame started like a frightened bird.  That infamous Laporte usually paid his visits at about eight o’clock in the evening, and after it became quite dark, Madame sat at the tiny window, and I felt that she was counting the minutes which still lay between her and the dreaded presence of that awful man.

At a quarter before eight o’clock we heard the usual heavy footfall on the stairs.  Madame started up as if she had been struck.  She ran to the bed—­almost like one demented, and wrapping the one poor blanket round M. le Vicomte, she seized him in her arms.  Outside we could hear Laporte’s raucous voice speaking to the guard.  His usual query:  “Is all well?” was answered by the brief:  “All well, citizen.”  Then he asked if the English spy were within, and the sentinel replied:  “No, citizen, he went out at about five o’clock and has not come back since.”

“Not come back since five o’clock?” said Laporte with a loud curse.  “Pardi!  I trust that that fool Caudy has not allowed him to escape.”

“I saw Caudy about an hour ago, citizen,” said the man.

“Did he say anything about the Englishman then?”

It seemed to us, who were listening to this conversation with bated breath, that the man hesitated a moment ere he replied; then he spoke with obvious nervousness.

“As a matter of fact, citizen,” he said, “Caudy thought then that the Englishman was inside the house, whilst I was equally sure that I had seen him go downstairs an hour before.”

“A thousand devils!” cried Laporte with a savage oath, “if I find that you, citizen sergeant, or Caudy have blundered there will be trouble for you.”

To the accompaniment of a great deal more swearing he suddenly kicked open the door of our attic with his boot, and then came to a standstill on the threshold with his hands in the pockets of his breeches and his legs planted wide apart, face to face with Mme. la Marquise, who confronted him now, herself like a veritable tigress who is defending her young.

He gave a loud, mocking laugh.

“Ah, the aristos!” he cried, “waiting for that cursed Englishman, what? to drag you and your brat out of the claws of the human tiger. ...  Not so, my fine ci-devant Marquise.  The brat is no longer sick—­he is well enough, anyhow, to breathe the air of the prisons of Lyons for a few days pending a final rest in the arms of Mme. la Guillotine.  Citizen sergeant,” he called over his shoulder, “escort these aristos to my carriage downstairs.  When the Englishman returns, tell him he will find his friends under the tender care of Doctor Laporte.  En avant, little mother,” he added, as he gripped Mme. la Marquise tightly by the arm, “and you, old scarecrow,” he concluded, speaking to me over his shoulder, “follow the citizen sergeant, or——­”