"A letter," the man said gruffly. "But as neither my wife nor I can
read--"

"Why did you not speak of this before?" broke in Chauvelin roughly. "Let
me see the letter."

The woman produced a soiled and dank scrap of paper from beneath her
apron. Of a truth she could not read its contents, for they were writ in
English in the form of a doggerel rhyme which caused Chauvelin to utter
a savage oath.

"When did this come?" he asked. "And how?"

"This morning, citizen," the woman mumbled in reply. "I found it outside
the door, with a stone on it to prevent the wind from blowing it away.
What does it mean, citizen?" she went on, her voice shaking with terror,
for of a truth the citizen Representative looked as if he had seen some
weird and unearthly apparition.

He gave no reply for a moment or two, and the two catiffs had no
conception of the tremendous effort at self-control which was hidden
behind the pale, rigid mask of the redoubtable man.

"It probably means nothing that you need fear," Chauvelin said quietly
at last. "But I will see the Commissary of the Section myself, and tell
him to send a dozen men of the Surete along to watch your house and be
at your beck and call if need be. Then you will feel quite safe, I
hope."

"Oh, yes! quite safe, citizen!" the woman replied with a sigh of genuine