He gave a glance at the child and another at the door of the inner attic, then he said in a loud voice: 

“Yes, another twenty-four hours and my duties as doctor will cease and those of patriot will re-commence.  But Mme. la Marquise de Mortaine need no longer be in any anxiety about her son’s health, nor will Mme. la Guillotine be cheated of a pack of rebels.”

He laughed, and was on the point of turning on his heel when the door which gave on the smaller attic was opened and Mme. la Marquise appeared upon the threshold.

Monsieur, I had never seen her look more beautiful than she did now in her overwhelming grief.  Her face was as pale as death, her eyes, large and dilated, were fixed upon the human monster who had found it in his heart to speak such cruel words.  Clad in a miserable, threadbare gown, her rich brown hair brought to the top of her head like a crown, she looked more regal than any queen.

But proud as she was, monsieur, she yet knelt at the feet of that wretch.  Yes, knelt, and embraced his knees and pleaded in such pitiable accents as would have melted the heart of a stone.  She pleaded, monsieur—­ah, not for herself.  She pleaded for her child and for me, her faithful servant, and she pleaded for the gallant gentleman who had risked his life for the sake of the child, who was nothing to him.

“Take me!” she said.  “I come of a race that have always known how to die!  But what harm has that innocent child done in this world?  What harm has poor old Jean-Pierre done, and, oh ... is the world so full of brave and noble men that the bravest of them all be so unjustly sent to death?”

Ah, monsieur, any man, save one of those abject products of that hideous Revolution, would have listened to such heartrending accents.  But this man only laughed and turned on his heel without a word.

* * * * * *

Shall I ever forget the day that went by?  Mme. la Marquise was well-nigh prostrate with terror, and it was heartrending to watch the noble efforts which she made to amuse M. le Vicomte.  The only gleams of sunshine which came to us out of our darkness were the brief appearances of milor.  Outside we could hear the measured tramp of the guard that had been set there to keep us close prisoners.  They were relieved every six hours, and, in fact, we were as much under arrest as if we were already incarcerated in one of the prisons of Lyons.

At about four o’clock in the afternoon milor came back to us after a brief absence.  He stayed for a little while playing with M. le Vicomte.  Just before leaving he took Madame’s hand in his and said very earnestly, and sinking his voice to the merest whisper: 

“To-night!  Fear nothing!  Be ready for anything!  Remember that the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel have never failed to succour, and that I hereby pledge you mine honour that you and those you care for will be out of Lyons this night.”