“Tavernay!” screamed a voice. “Tavernay! Oh, my love!” and I turned my head to see Charlotte starting from the cot, her hands outstretched. For an instant I shook them off; then they closed about me and hurled me from the tent. I fancied that death was upon me then and there, so merciless were the blows they dealt me. By some miracle I managed to keep my feet, and suddenly a gigantic figure drove itself through the crowd like a catapult. “Murderers!” he shrieked. “Assassins!” and I heard the blows which sent them to right and left. “What!” he continued, taking his stand before me. “You would kill a defenseless man--twenty against one! What sort of cowards are you?” “He is an aristocrat,” broke in the man who held my halter. “Citizen Goujon has ordered that he be hanged.” “Hang him and welcome,” rejoined the newcomer; “but don’t let me catch you worrying him like dogs. Now off with you!” The voice sounded strangely familiar in my ears, and when I had shaken the blood from my eyes, I saw that my rescuer was Dubosq. “Many thanks, my friend,” I said; and he started round astonished. “It seems you do not know me,” I added, as he stared his bewilderment, “and yet it was only three days ago that we met on the road from Tours.” He seized a torch from the hand of a bystander and flashed it into my face. “My word, citizen!” he cried. “Small wonder! You looked like a bridegroom, then--and now-- What have you been doing with yourself?” “I have been trying to escape being murdered,” I rejoined. “And it seems that I am not going to escape after all.” “Oh, yes, you will,” he corrected; “you shall not be murdered, I will see to that--only prettily executed.” “There is a difference, then?” I questioned, with irony. “All the difference in the world,” he answered with conviction. “The one is irregular and apt to be bungled; it is done without authority and without method, and is often needlessly prolonged. The other is carefully planned and quickly carried out; all unpleasantness is avoided----” “Oh, it is!” I broke in with a little laugh. “I am glad to know that!” “Citizen, you surprise me!” protested Dubosq; and I saw that he was in earnest. “I thought you more of a philosopher. Since this is the end, why worry about it?” “I will try not to,” I said; “but at twenty-one the end comes rather early.” “True,” he agreed, and gazed at me contemplatively; “I had forgot that you were so young.” “At any rate, I thank you for your interest,” I said. “Perhaps it is misplaced;” and he looked at me, frowning heavily. “So you were an accomplice of the _ci-devant_ Favras, after all. You lied very prettily that morning, citizen--and I would have sworn that you were fresh from the nursery. That’s one on old Dubosq.”