"The Citizen desires my services as a secretary? Rosalie told me you had asked her to speak to me——" Dangeau sprang up. His theory of universal equality, based upon universal citizenship, was slipping from him, and he found himself saying: "If Mademoiselle will do me so much honour." Mademoiselle’s beautifully arched eyebrows rose a little. What manner of Deputy was this? She had observed and liked the gravity of his face and the distant courtesy of his manner, or utmost privation would not have brought her to accept his offer; but she had not expected expressions of the Court, or a bow that might have passed at Versailles. "I am ready, Citizen," she said, with a faint smile and a fainter emphasis on the form of address. For the second time that day Dangeau flushed like a boy. He was glad that a table had to be drawn nearer the lamp, a chair pushed into position, ink and paper fetched. The interval sufficed to restore him to composure, and Mademoiselle being seated, he returned to his papers and to silence. When the first page had been transcribed, Mademoiselle brought it over to him. "Is that clear, and as you wish it, Citizen?" "It is very good indeed, Citoyenne"; and this time his tongue remembered that it belonged to a Republican Deputy. If Mademoiselle smiled, he did not see it, and again the silence fell. At ten o’clock she rose. "I cannot give you more time than this, I fear, Citizen," she said, and unconsciously her manner indicated that an audience was terminated. "My embroidery is still my ’cheval de bataille,’ and I fear it would suffer if my eyes keep too late hours." Her low "Good-night," her scarcely hinted curtsey passed, even whilst Dangeau rose, and before he could reach and open the door, she had passed out, and closed it behind her. Dangeau wrote late that night, and waked later still. His thoughts were very busy. After some evenings of silent work, he asked her abruptly: "What is your name?" Mademoiselle gave a slight start, and answered without raising her head: "Marie Roche, Citizen." "I mean your real name." "But yes, Citizen"; and she wrote a word that had to be erased. Dangeau pushed his chair back, and paced the room. "Marie Roche neither walks, speaks, nor writes as you do. Heavens! Am I blind or deaf?" "I have not remarked it," said Mademoiselle demurely. Her head was bent to hide a smile, which, if a little tremulous, still betokened genuine amusement—amusement which it certainly would not do for the Citizen to perceive. "Then do you believe that I am stupid, or"—with a change of tone—"not to be trusted?" Mademoiselle de Rochambeau looked up at that. "Monsieur," she said in measured tones, "why should I trust you?" "Why should you trust Rosalie Leboeuf?" asked Dangeau, with a spice of anger in his voice. "Do you not consider me as trustworthy as she?"