"I can save you yet," he cried, angered by her silence. "A word from me and your patriotism is above reproach. Come, you ’ve made a good fight, and I won’t say that has n’t made me like you all the better. I always admire spirit; but now it’s time the play was over. Down with the curtain, and let’s kiss and make friends behind it." Mademoiselle stood silent, a helpless thing at bay. "You won’t, eh?" and his tone changed suddenly. "Very well, my pretty piece of innocence; it’s Fouquier Tinville to-morrow, and then the guillotine,—but"—his voice sank savagely—"my turn first." She quivered in a sick horror. "What did he mean; what could he do? Oh, Mary Virgin!" His face came very close with its pale, hideous smile. "Come to me willingly, and I ’ll save your life and set you free when I ’ve had enough of you. Remain the obstinate pig you are, and you shall come all the same, but the guillotine shall have you next day." Her white lips moved. "You cannot—" she breathed almost inaudibly. Her senses were clouding and reeling, but she clutched desperately at that one thought. Some things were impossible. This was one of them. Death—yes, and oh, quickly, quickly; no more of this torture. But this new, monstrous threat—no, no, dear God! no, such a thing could not, could not happen! The room was all mist, swirling, rolling mist out of which looked Hébert’s eyes. Through it sounded his voice, his laugh. "Cannot, cannot—fine words, my pretty, fine words. When one has friends, good friends, one can do a good deal more than you think, and instead of finding yourself in the Conciergerie between sentence and execution, I can arrange quite nicely that you should be in these loving arms of mine. Aha, my dear! What do you say now? Will you hear reason, or no?" The mist covered everything now, and the wall she leaned against seemed to rock and give. She spread out her hands, and with a gasp fell waveringly, first to her knees, and then sideways upon the stones in a dead faint. CHAPTER XVII DISTRESSING NEWS Dangeau entered Paris next morning. His mission had dragged itself out to an interminable length. Even now he returned alone, his colleague, Bonnet, having been ordered to remain at Lyons for the present, whilst Dangeau made report at headquarters. The cities of the South smouldered ominously, and were ready at a breath to break into roaring flame. Even as Dangeau rode the first tongues of fire ran up, and a general conflagration threatened. Of this he rode to give earnest warning, and his face was troubled and anxious, though the outdoor life had given it a brown vigour which had been lacking before. He put up his horse at an inn and walked to his old quarters with a warm glow rising in his breast; a glow before which all misgivings and preoccupations grew faint.