She stopped me with a motion of her hand, and made a sign to me to listen. Then we heard borne across the scented spaces of the garden, where birds were warbling, distant cries of “Death!” “To the gallows with the aristocrat!” “Set his head on a pike!” Pale and motionless she held a finger to her lips. “It is,” I said, “some unhappy wretch being pursued. They are making domiciliary visits and effecting arrests in Paris night and day. It is possible they may force an entrance here. I ought to withdraw for fear of compromising you. Although I am but little known in this neighbourhood, I am, as times go, a dangerous guest.” “Stay!” she adjured me. For the second time cries rent the calm evening air. They were mingled now with the tramp of feet and the noise of fire-arms. They came nearer; then we heard a voice shout: “Close the approaches, so that he cannot escape, the scoundrel!” Madame de Luzy seemed to grow calmer in proportion to the increasing nearness of the danger. “Let us go up to the second floor,” she said; “we shall be able to see through the sunblinds what is going on outside.” But scarcely had we opened the door when, on the landing, we beheld a half-dressed fugitive, his face blanched with terror, his teeth chattering and his knees knocking together. This apparition murmured in a strangled voice— “Save me! Hide me! They are there.... They burst open my gate—overran my garden. They are coming....” II Madame de Luzy, recognizing Planchonnet, the old philosopher who occupied the neighbouring house, asked him in a whisper—“Has my cook caught sight of you? She is a Jacobin!” “Nobody has set eyes on me.” “God be praised, neighbour!” She led him into her bedroom, whither I followed them. A consultation was necessary. Some hiding-place must be hit upon where she could keep Planchonnet concealed for several days, or at least for several hours, whatever time it might take to deceive and tire out the search party. It was agreed that I should keep the approaches under observation, and that when I gave the signal, the unfortunate man should make his escape by the little garden gate. Whilst he waited, he was unable to remain standing. He was completely paralysed with terror. He endeavoured to make us understand that he was being hounded down for having conspired with Monsieur de Cazotte against the Constitution, and for having on the 10th of August formed one of the defenders of the Tuileries—he, the enemy of priests and kings. It was an infamous calumny. The truth was that Lubin was venting his hate upon him—Lubin, hitherto his butcher, whom he had a hundred times had a mind to lay a stick about to teach him to give better weight, and who was now presiding over the section in which he had formerly been a mere stallholder.