"Thank you, citizen jailer," was the faint reply. As Edmé turned and left the prison lodge, the custodian of the Luxembourg bent over his work again. The book was already filled with lists of names, written evenly in long columns. This book was the record of all the prisoners of the Luxembourg. When one left the prison his departure was duly noted in the space opposite his name. His transfer to another jail was indicated by the abbreviation "trans." If he was summoned before the tribunal and acquitted, this fact was chronicled by the letters "acq." If he was sentenced to death by the guillotine, the jailer marked him with a little black cross "X." He had once been a schoolmaster, and it was his pride to keep his prison records with neatness and accuracy. "Nevertheless, I am going to the conciergerie," said Edmé to herself as she passed along the Rue Vaugirard; "to the conciergerie," she repeated. She stopped abruptly in the street as the remembrance of the Citizeness Privat came to her mind. Putting her hand into her pocket, she drew out the card. "'Permit the Citizeness Privat to enter the rooms of the tribunal.' I will be Madame Privat to-night" was Edmé's resolution. "Once in the tribunal chamber, I shall at least be very near the prison." It was late in the afternoon when she reached the Quai de l'Horloge that skirted the frowning walls of the formidable prison. She passed the iron grating of the yard, and looking in, wondered why some sparrows which were twittering and fighting on the pavement beneath an unhealthy looking tree should remain for a moment in a prison yard when they had the whole outside world to fly in. Her pace, which had been a rapid one all the way from the Luxembourg, slackened as she approached the main entrance, and her fingers closed tightly on the card in her pocket, while the heart beneath the gray cloak beat rapidly. She did not know where to find the tribunal chamber. She had never been in that part of Paris before. She only knew that somewhere in that pile of gray stone were the old Parliament rooms, at present converted into the tribunal chambers of the Republic. Once in those rooms she would be under the same roof with Robert Tournay. Passing along the prison wall, she turned up the Rue Barillerie, and there saw the words "Revolutionary Tribunal," in large letters over a doorway. Here was the place to begin the rôle of the Citizeness Privat. The June evening was warm, and the air in the street fetid, as if it were poisoned by the prison atmosphere; yet with a quick movement of the hand she pulled the hood closer about her face, and rapidly ascended the stone staircase. A porter sitting by the doorway looked at her with indifferent gaze, but said nothing as she showed him the permit. She passed into the large hall with a strange feeling, as if she were no longer Edmé de Rochefort.