enough for the guillotine, eh?" said M. Barre.

"They are much trouble, sometimes--my children."

"Last night, for instance."

"Last night. But monsieur was unwise. We do not love the English here.
They do not find it comfortable on English soil, in Australia--my
children! Not so comfortable as Louis Philippe and Louis Napoleon.
Criminal kings with gold are welcome; criminal subjects without gold--
ah, that is another matter, monsieur. It is just the same. They may be
gentlemen--many are; if they escape to Australia or go as liberes, they
are hunted down. That is English, and they hate the English--
my children."

Gabrielle's voice was directed to M. Barre, but her eyes were on
Shorland.

"Well, Gabrielle, all English are not inhospitable. My friend here,
we must be hospitable to him. The coals of fire, you know, Gabrielle.
We owe him some thing for yesterday. He wishes to speak to you. Be
careful, Gabrielle. No communist justice, Citizen Gabrielle." M. Barre
smiled gaily.

Gabrielle smiled in reply, but it was not a pleasant smile, and she said:
"Treachery, M. Barre--treachery in Noumea? There is no such thing. It
is all fair in love and war. No quarter, no mercy, no hope. All is fair
where all is foul, M. Barre."

M. Barre shrugged his shoulders pleasantly and replied: "If I had my way