“You were right,” he said. “Receive my compliments. Tie him to that pole yonder. As for the woman, place her on my cot,--we shall find means to revive her;” and he laughed menacingly. “You may retire,” he added, “but stay within call.” They saluted and withdrew. Goujon waited until the flap fell behind them. Then he approached me slowly, until he was quite near, and contemplated me with those snake’s eyes of his--my face, my clothes, my shoes. With a little smile of enjoyment he turned away and bent above the cot, his hands clasped behind him. At last he turned to the table, took up a candle and held the flame close to her lips. It flickered back and forth, and he set it down again with a chuckle of satisfaction. Then he came back to me and stood for a moment gloating over me. “So, Citizen Tavernay,” he said at last with an infernal smile, “you did not escape after all!” CHAPTER XXV. IN THE SHADOW. “SO, Citizen Tavernay,” he repeated, dwelling on the words with a malicious triumph, “you did not escape after all--you and yonder pretty aristocrat. God’s blood! but this is a pleasant moment!” He stopped and looked into my eyes, then burst into a roar of laughter. “For me, I mean!” he cried, holding his sides. “For me--not for you. Come--look at it from my standpoint. Be large-minded enough to look at it from my standpoint. Could anything have been more perfect, more complete, more admirable in every way? It tempts me almost to believe in Providence.” I could only stand and stare at him and wonder numbly whether he were man or devil. “You wonder how I know you?” he continued. “True, I have never before had the supreme pleasure of meeting you thus, face to face, and of conversing pleasantly with you as I am now doing; but I know you perfectly nevertheless. The Nation has a sharp eye for its enemies, and it never sleeps. That eye has been upon you from the moment of your flight.” But I had shaken off my stupor and got something of my boldness back. “Nonsense!” I said contemptuously. “I am not fleeing. I am on my way to join the forces at Thouars. You mistake me for some one else.” He looked at me and nodded, while his smile grew and broadened. “Not bad,” he commended; “but it is useless to lie. Even if you were not Tavernay, your fate is none the less assured. I can well understand your reluctance to part with life;” and he cast a leering glance toward the still form on the cot. “You must have found life very pleasant recently. But do not despond. You are leaving your mistress in tender hands. She will not want for affection.” “What is the charge against me?” I demanded, controlling as well as I could the wrath which devoured me.