“Those roisterers seem harmless enough,” said M. le Comte after a moment. “It was foolish to run away. If I had stayed to broach a cask of wine for them they would have drunk my health and marched away shouting ‘God and the King!’ with the best of us. They are Revolutionists merely for the excitement of it, not because they bear me ill-will.” “Those around the fire perhaps,” assented Pasdeloup, “but not those others;” and he indicated with his finger a small group which stood motionless in the shadow of the tower almost directly beneath us. We leaned over the parapet and looked down at them. The rays of the fire glinted on knives, muskets, pistols. They were fully armed, though they wore no uniform. “Who are they?” asked M. le Comte. “Goujon brought them from Paris with him, monsieur. Look again and you will see their red caps. They are heroes of the September massacres.” I shivered at the words. “Goujon wished to have at hand some one upon whom he could rely,” Pasdeloup added quietly. “He promised them that he would have agreeable work for them, and that they should be well repaid, or they would never have consented to leave Paris.” “What are they doing down yonder?” “They are watching the door to the tower.” “Well, let them watch it. We shall not open it, and they can never break it down.” “I would not be too certain of that, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, gloomily. “They have learned many things at Paris. Goujon boasted that even unarmed the people had taken a great prison called the Bastille--but most probably he was lying.” “No,” said his master in a low tone, “in that particular, at least, he spoke the truth. But miracles do not repeat themselves.” “They no doubt have other means at command,” responded Pasdeloup grimly, “without calling in the aid of the good God.” “No doubt they have,” agreed his master; “but at least we can reduce the number of these assassins;” and he drew his pistols. But Pasdeloup laid a warning hand upon his arm. “Not yet, monsieur,” he said. “I may be mistaken. Perhaps there is yet a chance. Perhaps those others will refuse to join them. Perhaps they will grow weary after a time and depart for home, content with such plunder as they can carry away. But if we begin the attack they will be on fire in a moment.” “You are right,” agreed M. le Comte, and slowly returned his pistols to his belt. “Let us wait, then. Meanwhile Pasdeloup, do you tell us how you came to know so well what Goujon was planning--and more especially why, since you did know it, you did not give me warning.” Pasdeloup hesitated a moment. “I will tell you, monsieur,” he said at last, “and you will see that I am not to blame--that I did what I could. You perhaps know the inn of the Belle Image at Dange?” “I have heard of it.”