But now at last Merlin was having his way.  An anonymous denunciation against Deroulede had reached the Public Prosecutor that day.  Tinville and Merlin were the fastest of friends, so the latter easily obtained the privilege of being the first to proclaim to his hated enemy, the news of his downfall.

He stood facing Deroulede for a moment, enjoying the present situation to its full.  The light from the vast hall struck full upon the powerful figure of the Citizen-Deputy and upon his firm, dark face and magnetic, restless eyes.  Behind him the study, with its closely-drawn shutters, appeared wrapped in gloom.

Merlin turned to his men, and, still delighted with his position of a cat playing with a mouse, he pointed to Deroulede, with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders.

“Voyez-moi donc ca,” he said, with a coarse jest, and expectorating contemptuously upon the floor, “the aristocrat seems not to understand that we are here in the name of the Republic.  There is a very good proverb, Citizen-Deputy,” he added, once more addressing Deroulede, “which you seem to have forgotten, and that is that the pitcher which goes too often to the well breaks at last.  You have conspired against the liberties of the people for the past ten years.  Retribution has come to you at last; the people of France have come to their senses.  The National Convention wants to know what treason you are hatching between these four walls, and it has deputed me to find out all there is to know.”

“At your service, Citizen-Deputy!” said Deroulede, quietly stepping aside, in order to make way for Merlin and his men.

Resistance was useless, and, like all strong, determined natures, he knew when it was best to give in.

During this while, Juliette had neither moved nor uttered a sound.  Little more than a minuted had elapsed since the moment when the first peremptory order, to open in the name of the Republic, had sounded like the tocsin through the stillness of the house.  Deroulede’s kisses were still hot upon her hand, his words of love were still ringing in her ears.

And now this awful, deadly peril, which she with her own hand had brought on the man she loved!

If in one moment’s anguish the soul be allowed to expiate a lifelong sin, then indeed did Juliette atone during this one terrible second.

Her conscience, her heart, her entire being rose in revolt against her crime.  Her oath, her life, her final denunciation appeared before her in all their hideousness.

And now it was too late.

Deroulede stood facing Merlin, his most implacable enemy.  The latter was giving orders to his men, preparatory to searching the house, and there, just on the top of the valise, lay the letter-case, obviously containing those papers, to which the day before she had overheard Deroulede making allusion, whilst he spoke to his friend, Sir Percy Blakeney.