Loisel was wondering how much had been overheard, and wished himself well out of the situation. He was not in the least afraid of going to prison or to the guillotine, but there were reasons enough and to spare why his liberty at the present juncture was imperative. One of the many plots for releasing the Queen was in progress, and he carried upon him papers of the first importance. It was to serve this plot that he had made a bid for Aline’s help. In her unique position she might have rendered priceless services, but it was not to be, and he hastened to extricate himself from a position which threatened disaster to his central scheme. "Good-day," he returned with composure, and was moving off, when Dangeau detained him with a gesture. "One moment, Citizen. I neither know your name nor do I wish to know it, but it seemed to me that your conversation was distressing to my wife. I very earnestly deprecate any renewal of it, and should my wishes in the matter be disregarded I should conceive it my duty to inform myself more fully—but I think you understand me, Citizen?" So this was the husband? A strong man, not the type to be hoodwinked, best to let the girl go; but as the thoughts flashed on his mind, he was aware of her at his elbow. "M. l’Abbé," she said very low, "tell Marguerite—tell her—oh! ask her not to think hardly of me. I pray for her always, I hope to see her again, and I will do what I can." She ran back again, without waiting for a reply, and walked in silence by Dangeau’s side until they reached the house. He made no attempt to speak, but on the landing he hesitated a moment, and then followed her into her room. "Danton spoke to me this morning," he said, moving to the window, where he stood looking out. "They want me to go South again. Lyons is in revolt, and is to be reduced by arms. Dubois-Crancy commands, but Bonnet has fallen sick, and I am to take his place." Aline had seated herself, and picked up a strip of muslin. Under its cover her hands clasped each other very tightly. When he paused she said: "Yes, Monsieur." "I am to start immediately." "Yes, Monsieur." He swung round, looked at her angrily for a moment, and then stared again into the dirty street. "It is a question of what you are to do," he said impatiently. "I? But I shall stay here. What else is there for me to do?" "I cannot leave you alone in Paris again." "Monsieur?" "What!" he cried. "Have you forgotten?" and she bent to hide her sudden pallor. "What am I to do, then?" she asked very low. Her submission at once touched and angered him. It allured by its resemblance to a wife’s obedience, and repelled because the resemblance was only mirage, and not reality. "I cannot have you here, I cannot take you with me, and there is only one place I can send you to—a little place called Rancy-les-Bois, about thirty miles from Paris. My mother’s sisters live there, and I should ask them to receive you."