“Practically free,” answered the Incorruptible. “You may leave the Conciergerie when you please, thought I shall ask you to remain at your lodging in the Rue Nationale until this Ombreval is actually taken. Once he has been brought to Paris, I shall send you your papers that you may leave France, for, much though I shall regret your absence, I think that it will be wiser for you to make your fortune elsewhere after what has passed.” La Boulaye took a step in Suzanne's direction. “You have done this?” he cried, in a quivering voice. “You have betrayed the man to whom you were betrothed?” “Do not use that word, Monsieur,” she cried, with a shudder. “My action cannot be ranked among betrayals. He would have let you go to the guillotine in his stead. He had not the virtue to come forward, for all that he knew that you must die if he did not. On the contrary, such a condition of things afforded him amusement, matter to scorn and insult you with. He would have complacently allowed a dozen men to have gone to the guillotine that his own worthless life might have been spared. “But he was your betrothed!” La Boulaye protested. “True!” she made answer; “but I had to choose between the man it had been arranged I should marry and the man I loved.” A flush crimsoned her cheek, and her voice sank almost to a whisper. “And to save the man I love I have delivered up Ombreval.” “Suzanne” The name burst from his lips in a shout of wonder and of joy ineffable. In a stride he seemed to cover the distance between them, and he caught her to him as the door slammed on the discreetly departing Robespierre. End of Project Gutenberg's The Trampling of the Lilies, by Rafael Sabatini