"I should have known better than to leave you alone with a man of his character," exclaimed the veteran, glowering at the ex-priest. "The wife will never forgive me." Chabot had recovered his self-possession, and was regarding the old man's perturbation with evident amusement. The stranger who had entered the cell with Richard was a young man of about thirty, clean-shaven, with dark, almost black hair shading a high, intellectual brow and eyes of unusual brilliance. He was dressed in the uniform, such as it was, of the National Guard, but his appearance was not that of a soldier, and the artist's block and sketching materials which he carried in his hand proclaimed him to be, what indeed he was, a portrait painter. He had heard the woman's agonized cry. The scene that he had witnessed on entering the room had shown him the cause of her distress, and, with the blind, impetuous rage which the sight of any act of violence or injustice towards the weak or helpless rouses in a young and chivalrous soul, he rushed to where Chabot was standing and seized that worthy violently by the shoulder. "What the devil are you doing?" he demanded furiously. "That is no business of yours," retorted Chabot, coolly disengaging himself from the other's grasp. "You evidently do not know who I am, young man." "I have no wish to. It does not interest me. But I do know that you are not wanted here!" "I am the Deputy Chabot, of the Department of Loir-et-Cher!" "Indeed," replied the young man, apparently unabashed by so much distinction. "Well, I am Jean Jacques Hauer! And to the devil with your 'deputy'!" "So you are the fortunate Citizen Hauer," said Chabot, with a dark smile of comprehension. "I see, I see!" "What do you mean?" asked the artist threateningly. Chabot turned to Charlotte Corday with a bow. "I congratulate you, mademoiselle," he said, with meaning in his voice, "I congratulate you on the possession of so well-bred, so well-mannered a lover!" Hauer sprang forward with a cry of rage, and would have hurled himself upon the Deputy, had not Charlotte's quiet voice stopped him. "Leave him alone," she begged. "Let him be, I pray you. He is not worthy of your anger." Chabot moved toward the entrance slowly. "Good-by, mademoiselle," he said, "and thank you"--ironically--"thank you for a very pleasant chat, which I shall always remember, when you are--what shall we say?--forgotten!" Charlotte faced him with quiet dignity. "I may be forgotten," she replied, "and that soon. But what I have done shall not readily be forgotten." With a sarcastic laugh the Deputy crossed the threshold and was gone. Richard watched his departure with evident relief, and then turned to address his prisoner. "There is a priest without," he said, "who asks whether you desire his services." Charlotte shook her head. "Will you thank him on my behalf for his kindness. But I do not need the offices of the Church." She crossed to the table and leaned one hand upon it.