massed themselves, with Danton and the Club of the Cordeliers, nor was
he with the milder Lafayette and the Feuillants Club; he was no blind
follower of any party, yet he was trusted without being thoroughly
understood. It was difficult to decide which held the higher place with
him, his country or his own interests. He could not have answered the
question himself as he leaned back in his chair, a flood of thoughts
rushing through his brain, one thought more prominent than the rest,
destined perchance to absorb all others.

There were footsteps on the stairs without, and a knocking at the door.
The visitor had swaggered up the Rue Valette, conscious that some turned
to look at him as a man to be feared and respected, yet his manner
changed as he passed through the alley, the swagger lessened with each
step he mounted, and when Latour opened the door to him, the visitor was
full of respect, almost cringing respect. Here was a strange caricature
of equality!

"Welcome, Sabatier, I was thinking of you. What news?"

"The best. She has come. To-night she is a league from Paris at the
tavern of the Lion d'Or on the Soisy road."

"Good news, indeed," Latour answered, and a flush came into his face as
he turned away from his visitor as though to hide some weakness in his
character. "How was it accomplished?"

"By Mercier turning first thief, then aristocrat, and playing each part
so well that it seems to me he is now doubtful which he is. I have only
just returned from the Lion d'Or."