that room, she had gone there when Latour was announced; he knew that she must have overheard the conversation, that she would ask questi

cie

friend has gone, Pauline, y

d have taken little interest in her. Beauty was as necessary to him as luxury, and in this case was even more dangerous. Here was another proof that he was no coward, or he would surely not have placed himself in the hands of Pauline Vaison. She was dark, her figure rather full, voluptuous yet perfect in contour. Her movements were quick, virile, full of l

ther she came and faced Lucien

l he said.

ow fast news travels, and how important unimportant things become.

," she answered. "He is not a ma

onsiders me of some consequence

u lied

are a delightful creature. I never spend an hour i

not to be had wh

me," she said, still standing before

ou know that well enough, Pauline; but I have not decei

for this other woman, this Mademoiselle St. Clair. It was

point of view and yours are not th

said. "The sooner you discover that phase i

Latour is too inquisitive, and inquisitiveness is always asking for a lie. Latour got it and is quite satisfied. Mademoiselle Pauline Vaison is a woman, a woman in love, and just beca

n love wit

d acquaintances did? But I am in love with her fortune. If I am to make myself felt in Paris, if I am to do what I have set my heart to accomplish, money I must have. True, I am not pe

uld marry this wo

uld obtain part

I say; you wou

ght of that," said

, can you

t be marriage. She, too, is a woman in love, and such a woman will do much for a man. A few marks of a pen and I am rich, free

ryth

oman who is a patriot, a true daughter of France, marry her, prove yourself and see how the shouting crowds will welcome you. Latour

cie

beside him, his caress w

nd obeyed. Citizeness Bruslart shall become the rage of all Paris. Listen, Pauline. I have cast in my lot with the people, but I have something which the people have not, a line of ancestors who have ruled over t

failed to reach mademo

said, quietly. "Besides, it is just

itedly, "I believe you are right. What then? Other

our have spies in the c

, Lucien, wonderfu

onstantly than any other-self, yet in the schemes of most men self plays the most prominent part, and is not always sordid and altogether despicable. She would not have understood her lover; he did not understand himself. He was a product of the Revolution, as were thousands of others walking the Paris streets, or busy with villainies in country places; character was complex by force of circumstances, which, under other conditions, might have been simple and straightforward. With some a certain straightforwardness remained, not always directed to wrong ends. It was so in Lucien Bruslart. It was not easy

aid, in a low voice, almost in a w

eive

comprehended, as when one is recalled from a re

ell for both of us, for a

he could not even bring a sm

nd pulled him to the wind

now what I me

must live, even in a revolution, and to live, work. Underneath it all there was something unnatural, a murmur, a growl,

at I mean,"

, for he partly guessed. In that dire

easy. She is an aristocrat. One word from me, and do you think you could save her? Yonder stands th

window. Pauline still held his hand. She waited for

hear wha

and

! That would be awful, but I would never forgive, never. I would speak again. I would tell them many things. No

ld it close to her breast. He could feel

ldn't it?" he said, drawing her back and closi

ur," and she clung to him

mulating any definite idea, he felt in a vague way that Latour's career was in some way bound up with his own. There was something in common between them, each had a

ch difficulty in salving his conscience as a rule. It was generally easy to make the ends justify the means. He had taken no notice of the swaying cur

ehind the little counter, on which were a few loa

those rooms? I want to see

her pocket and gave him

. "You will not fail to do as I ha

all be a pretty bir

a dear friend, no more nor less than that, and

rld, knew men well, and the ways of them with women. There might be some things about Citi

o or three inexpensive prints adorned the walls, and on the toilet table were candlesticks, a china tray, and some cut-glass bottles. The boards were polished, and here and there was a rug or strip of carpet; the paint was fresh and white-white was the color note throughout. Here was the greatest luxury possible to a shallow pocket, very different from Brus

ve that had ever touched him. He remembered its first coming. A restive horse, a young girl in a carriage and in danger. It was nothing to seize the horse, hold it, and quiet it; he had flushed and stammered when the girl had thanked him, all unconsciously casting the spell of her great beauty over him. Never again had he spoken to her. He was only a poor student, the child of simple folk in the country dead long ago; she was of noble birth, her home a palace, her beauty toasted at Versailles He saw her often, waiting to see her pass, and each day he thought of her, setting her on the high altar of his devotion. He knew that his must always be a s

he murmured. "To-morrow, I s

on flung open the window and Lucien Bruslart looked in the dir