"One who would have you do a noble action," she answered. "One who is pleading with you for your own soul's sake." "Whoever you may be, you have bewitched me. Promise you will come hence with me, and I will write the release." "Write it," she whispered faintly. Robespierre dashed off a few hurried lines. "What is the fellow's name?" he asked. "Sign the paper," she murmured, dropping her eyes. "I implore you, do not ask me his name. Let me fill that in." "I will free no man from prison unless I know his name," replied Robespierre. "I will never tell you that," she replied, rising to her feet and going to the other side of the desk, "never." "What foolish nonsense," he complained, signing his name. "Now," he continued, shaking the sand box over the wet ink, "tell me his name, and I will send this pardon to the conciergerie at once. See, I have written 'immediate release' upon it. You have only to tell me his name. Do you still hesitate?" There was a sudden rattle in the drawer on Edmé's side of the desk. Leaning forward, she brought one hand down upon the paper, while with the other she pointed a pistol at Robespierre's head. He turned deadly white and drew back in his chair. "Would you murder me?" he gasped out. [Illustration: "WOULD YOU MURDER ME?"] "If you make one movement," she replied, "Marat's fate will be yours." He cringed further away from the muzzle of the weapon that stared him in the face. With one hand she folded up the document and put it in the bosom of her dress, all the while keeping the pistol aimed steadily at him. "Now," she continued coolly, "you have the key of the door. Make no movement," she added quickly, bringing the pistol still nearer him, "but tell me where to find it." "It is in the door now," he snarled. She came cautiously around the corner of the desk, still keeping the weapon leveled at his head. He rose to his feet and sprang toward her. The pistol snapped. He caught her by the wrist. Then pinning both her arms to her side with his arms about her waist he breathed in her ear:-- "You cannot fire a pistol that is not loaded, though you _did_ startle me. Now give me that paper." Edmé did not speak, but struggled desperately to break from his grasp. She determined that he might kill her before she would give back the paper. So fiercely did she struggle that he had to exert all his strength to hold her. "I'll have that paper again if I have to strangle you to get it!" he muttered through his teeth. He succeeded in holding down both arms with one of his, leaving his left arm free. Before he could make use of it, he felt himself seized from behind. His nerves, strained by his previous fright, gave way completely at this unexpected attack. Uttering a cry, he released his hold completely. "Save yourself; I will not hold you to your promise!" cried a voice. Edmé waited to hear nothing more, but darted swiftly from the room, leaving the baffled Robespierre confronted by La Liberté.