Jean Jacques stood scratching his head. "Eh, Madelon," he said, "you faced him grandly. But when did he get those shoe-buckles, and how did you know about them?" Madelon began to laugh faintly, with catching breath. "Oh, thou great stupid," she panted; "did’st thou not understand? There never, never, never were any buckles at all, but he thought they were there in his garden, and it did just as well," and with that she buried her face in the pillow and broke into passionate weeping. Mathieu Leroux held his tongue about his daughter and walked softly for a day or two. Also he took much exercise in his garden, where he dug to the depth of three feet, but without finding anything. Meanwhile Brutus Carré was occupied with the forms of republican justice. His prisoners were to be taken to Paris, since Justice lacked implements here, and Rancy owned no convenient stream where one might drown the accused in pairs, or sink them by the boat-load. Ange Desaix faced him with a high look. If her ideals were tottering, their nobility still clung about her, wrapping her from this man’s rude gaze. "I was a Republican before the Revolution," she said, and her look drew from Citizen Carré an outburst of venom. "You are suspect, gravely suspect," he bellowed. "But, Citizen—" and the frank gaze grew a little bewildered. "But, Citoyenne!—but, Aristocrat! What! you answer me, you bandy words? Is treason so bold in Rancy-les-Bois? Truly it’s time the wasp’s nest was smoked out. Take her away!" and Mlle Ange went out, still with that bewildered look. M. le Curé came next. There was a high flush on his thin cheeks, and his fingers laced and interlaced continually. When Carré blustered at him he started, leaned forward, and tapped the table sharply. "I wish to speak, to make a statement," he said in a high, trembling voice. There was a surprised silence, whilst the priest stretched out his hand and spoke as from the pulpit. "My children, I have been as Judas amongst you, as Judas who betrayed his Lord. I desire to ask pardon of the souls I have offended, before I go to answer for my sin." Carré stared at him. "Is he mad?" he asked, with a brutal laugh. "No, not mad," said M. le Curé quietly. "Not that it matters having a crack in a head that’s so soon to come off," continued the Commissioner. "Take him away. When I want to hear a sermon I ’ll send for him"; and out went the curé. On the road to Paris he was very quiet, sitting for the most part with his head in his hands. After they reached Paris, Mlle Ange and Aline saw him no more. No doubt he perished amongst the hundreds who died and left no sign. As for the women, they were sent to the Abbaye, and there waited for the end. CHAPTER XXVIII INMATES OF THE PRISON