As he stood within the circle of light, the young woman looked from him to his modest surroundings with marked curiosity, her eyes dwelling upon each object in the room in turn. It did not take long to note every piece of furniture; the table, arm-chair, a few books, the violin case in the corner, with a picture or two and a pair of rapiers upon the wall. When she had completed her survey of the room her gaze returned to him once more. He was plainly dressed in a suit of dark brown color. His linen was exquisitely neat, and his figure was so elegant that although his coat was far from new, and of no exceptional quality, it became him as well as if it were of the most costly material. "Will you be seated?" said St. Hilaire, drawing forward the arm-chair from its corner. The young woman took the seat he offered her. "And so you are Citizen St. Hilaire," she repeated as if the name interested. "I--I am Citizeness La Liberté. I remember you well," she continued; "I saw you a number of times, years ago, at the home of the Marquis de----But why mention his name? There are no more marquises in France, and he was a worthless creature," and she tossed back her head with a gesture of careless freedom. "No," he repeated, "there are no more marquises," and with a laugh he seated himself opposite her. The sharp end of the crisp loaf in his pocket made him aware of its presence. He took it out and put it in its place upon the table beside the cream. "The Republic has caused many strange changes, but I should never have dreamed of finding you here like this, Citizen St. Hilaire," and again she eyed him wonderingly. "The Republic has done a great deal for you?" said St. Hilaire, raising his eyebrows inquiringly. "Everything," replied La Liberté with emphasis, while her eyes and the jewels on her bosom flashed upon him dazzlingly. Her look indicated that she thought the Revolution had not dealt so generously by him. "It has done much for me too," said St. Hilaire. "What good has it done you?" inquired La Liberté incredulously. "It has taught me wisdom," he replied. "Oh," she answered contemptuously, "it has brought me pleasure. Therefore I love it. But you, Citizen St. Hilaire,--will you answer me a question?" St. Hilaire bowed in acquiescence. "Are you satisfied with this Republic? I know it is dangerous to speak slightingly of it in these days, but between us, with only the walls to hear, do you like it?" "I am never satisfied with anything," replied St. Hilaire with just a touch of weariness in his voice. "I should think that you would hate it. I should were I you," and La Liberté shook her brown curls with a laugh. "Notwithstanding," said St. Hilaire, "I would not go back to the old régime." "I do not understand you at all," exclaimed La Liberté in despair, with a puzzled look on her brow. "Why try?" he asked dryly. "I have given it up myself. Tell me in what way I can serve you?"