"Javogues," cried Nicole, recoiling, "have you not a drop of human blood in you? Have you pity for nothing? Does not the sight of all the blood spilled on the guillotine satisfy you?" "Satisfy me?" he laughed. He elevated his arms, repeating it with a clap of laughter. "That little pool of blood satisfy me? Only an inundation can purify France. Twenty executions a day would not satisfy me. The guillotine is too merciful for traitors. I would drown them by hundreds--these aristocrats--these rich--these Moderates who have crushed us for ages. If those we smite are not guilty, their fathers were! We must be revenged on the ages." Then addressing Nicole furiously, he cried: "See here, my girl; if you talk of moderation, you'll go, too!" There was a moment's silence. Then suddenly, from below, she heard the voice of Dossonville calling: "Nicole! Ho, Nicole!" Without was life; within the dim room, martyrdom. "Then you think," she said, looking down, "that Barabant is guilty?" "He shall die!" She was smiling with a deceitful smile as she answered: "You are perhaps right. Moderation is wrong. We have suffered much." "Well said!" Javogues cried. "There speaks the patriot." "Nicole! Nicole, come down!" cried the voice without. "It is that traitor Dossonville," Nicole said, still smiling. "He does not know that Goursac is to die to-day. Call it down to him. That will enrage him." With a gleam of joy, Javogues turned to the window; but before he had made two steps, Nicole, bounding forward, buried her dagger between the vast shoulders. The hands went frantically into the air, a hideous sound choked in the throat, and, spinning around, the great bulk tottered and collapsed at her feet. A moment before was martyrdom, now nothing but horror. Hysterical, panic-stricken, holding out her hand before her,--the hand that bore the curse of blood,--the girl fled from the room, shrieking: "I have killed him!" At each flight, shivering as though the specter pursued, she repeated: "I have killed him! I have killed him!" She rushed from the doorway into the court, haggard, stretching away the accusing hand, and streaked across the court into the arms of Dossonville, screaming always: "I have killed him!" Above, the face of Javogues, purple and choking, appeared a moment at the window, and fell back, crying: "Help! Help!" From the four walls the windows put forth frightened heads. Two or three half-dressed figures came tumbling into the court. But Dossonville, seizing the maddened girl, rushed her away through the passage and up the street before the startled lodgers could divine what had happened. X UNRELENTING IN DEATH