Louison stood a minute pale and silent, waiting for him to speak; but the proud man would have perished rather than show, by word or look, the wound she had given him. His calmness hurt her worse than his anger had done. He did not believe her; before the hour was over she would convince him. “The clubs are still in session, before they close your treason will be known there.” “And you will have done your worst. Come and tell me how the news is received. It will be interesting. I shall wait for you,” said Mirabeau, without lifting his head. “Yes, I will come, if it is only to be the first who shall tell you that your power in France is at an end. Count Mirabeau, you stand from this night exposed to the world as a demagogue and a traitor!” “Be sure and come. You shall have no trouble in reaching me this time.” Louison left the room and the house. When the door closed upon her, Mirabeau flung down his pen, and resting his head upon his two hands, gave way to the terrible shock her words had brought upon him. She was right; let France once know that he had been in treaty with the court, and his great power would melt away like a snow-wreath. All that he possessed on earth was his influence with the people. In the clubs and the Assembly he had almost as many enemies as friends. The extremes both hated him and feared him. They would seize upon anything which promised to injure him. Would Louison go to them with her charge? It was more than likely. Her keen wit and vindictive thirst for vengeance would find the shortest way of reaching him. But she had no evidence; his letter reached the queen, and her answer was safe in his own possession. What, then, but unsupported suspicion, had the woman to offer his enemies. Such evidence he could afford to scorn. After all, why should he care for the threats of a woman like Louison Brisot—a creature who would never have been heard of but for the notice he had given her. Mirabeau remained a full hour thinking over all that threatened him. Then he remembered the queen’s letter and, rendered cautious by anxiety, resolved to burn it after another careful perusal. A deer of lapis lazuli, with hoofs and antlers of burnt gold, crouched upon a small block of agate at his elbow. Under this dainty toy he had placed the queen’s letter after reading it. Mirabeau reached forth his hand, lifted the deer, and found nothing underneath. He gazed in consternation at the empty space, then searched among the papers on his table with a hand that began to shake violently. Had that evil creature stolen the letter?