The dwarf followed her in sheer desperation. He had no doubt that she was on her way to Mirabeau’s residence, where the letter she carried would pass out of his reach forever—that the wretched creature knew would be death to him. So, without any definite object, and actuated only by a wild desire to save himself, he followed on, keeping at a safe distance. Marguerite walked rapidly, gliding like a shadow along the street, until she came in sight of Mirabeau’s dwelling; then she paused a moment to gather courage, and pushing back her hood looked around, to be certain no one was in sight. That moment a young man passing along the street, stopped short in his rapid walk, and cast a sharp glance at the young face momentarily exposed to his view. “Great heavens!” This exclamation had hardly left his lips, when the girl entered the building, which he knew to be occupied by Count Mirabeau. “The villain! Poor, foolish child!” Muttering this through his clenched teeth, St. Just drew back into the shelter of an arched passage, and watched the house with a wild hope that another minute would bring the girl into the street again. As he stood with his eager eyes fixed on the opposite door, something that seemed like a crouching dog stole up the steps, and pressed itself against the door, which swung partly open, letting a gleam of light into the street. Then he saw what had seemed a prowling animal lift itself to an upright position, till it took the statue of a child, and pass through the hall beyond. CHAPTER XCII. THE VIPER TURNS. “At last! at last!” exclaimed Louison Brisot, springing forward like a panther, and seizing the dwarf, Zamara, by the shoulder as he came through the door of her apartment. “I began to think you had been playing me false.” “Because I was late? That is hard. I can watch, not hasten the movements of others,” answered the dwarf, snappishly. “What, getting savage? That looks well. You have got the letter—I understand that. Success always makes cowards audacious.” “Yes, I have got the letter; but only by creeping, like a thief, into Mirabeau’s house. Now, what am I to get for it?” “Get for it? Why, your life, craven—your own precious life!” “But I want more. The life of a dog—a slave, is not worth having, unless there is enjoyment in it.” “Enjoyment!” cried the girl, laughing boisterously. “Why, what can a little withered thing like you want of enjoyment?” “What can you want of it?” questioned the dwarf, fiercely. “I am human.” “Scarcely!” answered the woman, with brutal sincerity; “but you shall have your enjoyment. I have been so much from home that my cat is getting ferocious. You shall tame him for me; he killed my dog in a hard fight. You may have better luck.” A fiendish scowl convulsed the dwarf’s face. “I do for madame what no one else can, and for that she taunts me. I will not bear it.”