“I have no words to thank you,” she said.  “For what I did at Beauvais I humbly ask your pardon.”

“I am always at your service, mademoiselle.  Please believe this and use me in your need.”

She was gone, and Barrington was alone, staring at the doorway through which she had passed.  A tangle of thoughts was in his brain, one loose end uppermost.  He had not moved when Lafayette returned.

“Is that man honest?” asked Barrington.  It was the loose end in the tangle which prompted the question.

“Yes, surely.  She is the woman he loves.”

“Only God knows the villainy of some men.”

Lafayette laid his hand on his arm.

“Friend Richard, can it be that he is not the only man who loves her?”

“She is a woman, and in Paris.”

“Ah, yes, enough truly to cause any man anxiety,” answered Lafayette.  “Now I am going to send a trusted servant with you to find you a secure lodging.  This house is no safe place for you either.  I would we were looking out across Chesapeake Bay together.”

CHAPTER XI

“Way for the cursed aristocrat!”

There were quiet streets in Paris down which noisy patriots seldom passed, houses into which the angry roar of revolution only came like a far-off echo.  There were men and women who had no part in the upheaval, who had nothing to do either with the rabble or the nobility, who went about their business as they had always done, lamenting the hard times perchance, yet hoping for better.  Some may have realized that in their indifference lay their safety, but to others such indifference came naturally; their own immediate affairs were all that concerned them.  The rabble took no notice of them, they were too insignificant for the nobility to attempt to influence, and they criticised neither the doings of the Convention, nor the guillotine’s work, knowing little of either.

In such a street, with a man named Fargeau, a tailor by trade, Barrington and Seth found a lodging.  Fargeau had had the Marquis de Lafayette for a customer, and the money of this American, who could hardly have much interest in what was happening in Paris, would be useful.

“I cannot tell how long I may be in Paris,” said Lafayette, at parting.  “One must not prophesy about to-morrow.  At present the neighborhood of my apartment must be dangerous to you.  If chance brings me power again you know I shall think of you before any other.”

“My duty seems to lie straight before me,” Barrington returned.

“Yes, I understand, and if you are in trouble send for me if you can.  You may depend on my doing all that a man can do.  Count the cost of all your actions, for the price may be heavy.  I have been full of advice this morning, let me advise you.  To some in Paris you are a marked man, remember, so keep quiet for a while, and on the first opportunity get back to Virginia.”