The revelation that Tournay was condemned, the awful knowledge that he would be executed on the morrow, conveyed to her thus suddenly, made the room reel before EdmÉ's eyes. In her dizziness she fell against one of the tables and held to it for support.

In the quiet that followed the departure of the clerks she pressed her head and tried to think. At first her benumbed brain refused to work; then as the full significance of the clerk's action came back to her, when she realized just what he had done and what she in her turn might do, she stood erect, alert, and courageous.

The warrant for Robert's death; could she get possession of it? With a beating heart she glided into the chamber of death warrants.

A lamp was burning in the room, and there in plain view upon the table were three packets of black-covered papers. She bent over them hastily and at once took up the file marked: "Warrants of the eighth Thermidor." With nervous fingers she ran them through, looking at each name until she came to that of "Tournay, Robert, ex-colonel." At sight of the name she gave a half-suppressed cry, and took it quietly from the others. "They shall not send you to the guillotine to-morrow, Robert," she breathed. Her first thought was how to make way with the fatal paper. She looked round the room; it had one window and two doors. The window looked out upon the street. One doorway led back into the tribunal chamber. Through the other, a small one, the two clerks must have passed out. She hastened towards it, praying fervently that they had omitted to fasten it. Vain prayer, the clerks had not been remiss in their duty here. It was locked. Yet it was not a strong barrier. A few blows struck with some heavy object might break it through; or better still there was a pistol in the drawer of one of the desks; with that she could blow the lock to atoms. Either method would make a noise, but she must take the risk.

Just as these thoughts flashed through her mind, she saw to her consternation the door-handle turn, and heard the grating of a key on the outside.

"The employees returning," she thought, and had just presence of mind enough to pass her left hand, which still clutched the death warrant, behind her back, when the door opened, and she was face to face with a woman.

"Hello!" said the latter, "I expected to find ClÉment and Hanneton here. Who are you?"

"I—I am,—I came in the place of Madame—of Citizeness Privat."

"You seem a little put out, citizeness, at the sight of La LibertÉ. You have never seen me before? That's why, eh? Tell me, now, what are you doing here?"

"I am doing the work of Citizeness Privat, who is ill," replied EdmÉ, recovering her self-possession.

"Hum," said La LibertÉ with a slight sniff, as she closed the door and passed toward the centre of the room. EdmÉ slowly revolved on her heel, keeping her face toward La LibertÉ, and her left hand behind her back.

"What are you trying to hide there?" demanded La LibertÉ quickly, whose bright brown eyes took in every motion of EdmÉ.

"I have nothing to hide."

La LibertÉ's glance went from EdmÉ to the warrants on the table, and then back to EdmÉ's face again.

"You are hiding something behind your back," persisted La LibertÉ, trying to obtain a peep at it by making a circle around EdmÉ. EdmÉ continued to turn, always keeping her face toward La LibertÉ.

The latter stopped. "I will see what you have there," she declared with a toss of her head, her curiosity aroused to the burning point.

"You shall not. It does not concern you," was the firm reply.

For an instant each looked into the other's eyes in silence. Both breathed defiance; both were equally determined.

Then with a tigerlike spring La LibertÉ dashed forward, seized EdmÉ about the waist with one arm, while she endeavored to secure the parchment with her other hand. EdmÉ quickly passed the document into her right hand, bringing it forward high above her head. With the same cat-like agility, La LibertÉ sprang for it on the other side and managed to get hold of it by one corner. There was a short struggle; a tearing of paper, and each held a piece of the document in her hand.

"A warrant!" exclaimed La LibertÉ, darting back a few paces and shaking out the piece of paper in her hand. "You have been tampering with these," she added quickly, putting one hand upon the pile of documents on the table.

EdmÉ made no reply.

"Why did you take it?" inquired La LibertÉ, taking her portion of paper near the light to examine it, while she kept one eye fixed upon her late antagonist, in fear of a sudden attack.

The warrant had been divided nearly down the centre; but the last name of the condemned man was upon the piece held by La LibertÉ.

"Tournay!" she cried out in surprise. "Robert Tournay! What object have you in destroying this warrant?"

"I have not destroyed it," replied EdmÉ, making the greatest effort to maintain an outward calm. "It was you who tore it."

"Don't try any of those tricks with me," snapped La LibertÉ. "Come, what was your object in taking this warrant? It is a dangerous thing to tamper with those documents."

"I shall not answer any of your questions," was EdmÉ's rejoinder.

For a space of ten seconds the two women stood again confronting each other, as if each waited for the other to move. La LibertÉ's eyes looked fixedly at EdmÉ, as if they would read her through and through.

"You are not what you pretend to be," she said finally; "you are no woman of the people." Then, suddenly flinging aside the torn paper, she rushed forward and seized EdmÉ's arm.

"I know who you are now!" she exclaimed excitedly. "You are an aristocrat! Don't deny it!" she continued passionately. "I came from La Thierry. I was a young girl when I left there, but my memory serves me well. Your name is EdmÉ de Rochefort. You are an aristocrat, and you love the republican colonel! You destroyed this warrant. You risked your life in the attempt to prolong his."

"Whoever I may be, whatever I attempted to do, you tore that paper. It was you who destroyed it," said EdmÉ as she wrenched herself free from the woman's grasp.

The only answer of La LibertÉ was a loud and scornful laugh. She approached EdmÉ again with a malignant glitter in her eyes; but EdmÉ held her ground and confronted her bravely.

"So you are EdmÉ de Rochefort," repeated La LibertÉ slowly. "I remember having seen you years ago when I was a girl of fifteen, at my father's mill near the village of La Thierry. You were a pale-faced girl then. You didn't wear coarse clothes then! You drove in your carriage, and didn't look at such as me; but I saw you, and hated you for being so proud. Then there was a certain marquis." A bright spot appeared on EdmÉ's cheek, but she did not speak.

"He came to pay his court to you, but he made love to me. He never even made a pretense of loving you. But he cared for me in his cold, selfish way. He took me to Paris, gave me everything money could buy, for a while. Then he left me, and went back to you. I hated you for that. You did not care for him. You did not marry him. That made no difference to me. Then there was another man. He was not for you. He was of my class, not yours. You had no right to his love. He never loved me, I know. I am too proud to say he loved me when it was not so. But he was kind to me. He was noble and generous, and I loved him. You had no right to him. I hate you for that more than all." Her passion wrought upon her so that her once pretty face was something fearful to behold. EdmÉ expected at each breath she would spring forward and tear her like a tiger cat.

"I care not for your hatred," EdmÉ retorted calmly. "I never willfully wronged you. Your hatred cannot harm me."

"No?" demanded the frenzied La LibertÉ. "It can restore this paper. I can denounce you. I can send you with your lover to the guillotine."

"That does not terrify me," replied EdmÉ. "You can send the woman you hate and the man you profess to love into another world together. That is all you can do. I am above your hatred."

La LibertÉ started to speak, then checked herself.

"You say you love him. Love," repeated EdmÉ in a tone of deep disdain. "You dare to call that love which would destroy its object? Such as you are not capable of love."

"If it were not that you loved him, I would let them cut me into pieces for his sake," retorted La LibertÉ fiercely.

"You say that you love him, and you are willing to send him to the guillotine," repeated EdmÉ.

"If it were not that it would be giving him to you, I would give my life a thousand times to save him," was the answer.

EdmÉ caught La LibertÉ by the arm.

"You have it in your power to cause my arrest. If you will not use that power, if you will give me only twenty-four hours, I may be able to save Robert Tournay's life. At the expiration of that time, whether I succeed or fail, I will surrender myself. I will denounce myself before the Committee of Public Safety."

La LibertÉ looked into EdmÉ's face searchingly but made no reply.

"You understand what I propose," EdmÉ continued in a cool, firm voice. "If you agree to it you can accomplish what you desire; the rescue of Robert Tournay and my death."

"Bah," said La LibertÉ with a shrug; "you are very heroic, but, Robert Tournay once out of danger, you would not give yourself up to the committee. In your place, I should not do it, and I will not trust you."

"I give you my promise to appear before Robespierre himself."

"Your promise," repeated La LibertÉ, "you ask me to accept your simple word?"

"The word of a de Rochefort," said EdmÉ with quiet dignity.

"The word of an aristocrat," continued La LibertÉ slowly. "You aristocrats vaunt your devotion to honor."

"And will you not trust it when Colonel Tournay's life is at stake?" asked EdmÉ.

"Yes, I will," La LibertÉ burst forth in fierce energy. "I will trust your word, and test your honor."

"Then for twenty-four hours you will let me go free? You will not have me watched nor interfered with in any way?"

"I give you my word," said La LibertÉ, drawing herself up, "and my word is as good as that of the proudest aristocrat."

Then changing her manner she asked quickly: "How do you propose to save Robert Tournay? What can you do?"

EdmÉ had no intention of imparting her plan to La LibertÉ, yet she did not wish to antagonize her by refusing to confide in her.

"There is not time to go into the details of it now. First help me to get away from here. Those clerks may return."

"I will prevent that," said La LibertÉ quickly. "I know where they sup. I will go there and delay their return. They are convivial youngsters and never refuse a glass or two. In the meantime you must see to it that those three files of warrants do not retain the slightest appearance of having been handled. Be sure that every object in the room is just as you found it."

By this time La LibertÉ was outside the door. Looking back into the room, she said: "When you have done that, go down this staircase, cross the street, and wait for me in the shadow of the building opposite. I will then conduct you to my house," and La LibertÉ's feet sprang nimbly down the stairs.

Quickly EdmÉ picked up the pieces of torn warrant, intending to take them away and burn them. Then she turned her attention to the documents on the table, and in a few minutes had them arranged just as she found them. She placed the chairs in a natural position before the table, and stepped back for a final survey to assure herself that she had not left a trace which might arouse the suspicion of the clerks.

No, there was nothing that Hanneton or even ClÉment would be likely to notice. She had been none too rapid in the arrangement of these details. The door of the adjoining chamber was unlocked and some one entered.

EdmÉ could tell by the footfalls that the person was traversing the room with measured tread. Then came the sound of a chair being drawn up to a desk. Then a dry cough echoed through the deserted hall as a man cleared his throat.

EdmÉ gave a glance toward the door that led down the staircase taken by La LibertÉ. It stood invitingly open, but to gain it she would have to pass the door that communicated with the tribunal. This also was open. She started on tiptoe across the floor.

The words "Bring me a light here, will you?" fell upon her ears in a harsh tone of authority. She started at this sudden command. She had made no noise, yet the mysterious personage seemed to be aware of her presence.

"In the next room there, whoever you are, bring in more light; this lamp burns villainously!"

EdmÉ hesitated no longer but caught up the lamp from the table and entered the tribunal chamber. As she obediently placed the light upon the desk the man who was writing there looked up with impatient gesture. Although she had never seen him before, she had heard him described many times, and she knew that he was Robespierre.

"Well!" he exclaimed, "who are you?"

"I—I am here in place of the Citizeness Privat."

"The Citizeness Privat?"

"Yes, she cleans up the rooms, and being ill"—

"Cleans!" repeated Robespierre with a laugh, blowing the dust from the top of the table, "Is that what you call it? This Privat is like all the rest, willing to take the nation's pay and give nothing in return. And you are also like the rest, eh?"

"I do not know what you mean. I am doing her work as well as I can. With your permission I will hasten to complete my task," replied EdmÉ.

In spite of her abhorrence of him she could not help looking at him intently, her eyes expressing the horror which she felt. To her, he was the embodiment of all that was evil, the very spirit of the Revolution. As her glance rested upon the white waistcoat, fitting close to his meagre figure, and as she thought of the cruel heart that beat beneath it, the vision of Charlotte Corday and the vile Marat flashed before her eyes with startling vividness.

What if heaven had decreed that she should be the means of ridding the world of this monster? What if the opportunity was about to present itself? She pushed the thought away from her, with the inward supplication, "God keep me from doing it."

Robespierre noticed the look of horror on her face, and attributed it to the fear his presence inspired. His small eyes blinked complacently.

"Stay," he said; "you have nothing to fear if you are a good patriotic citizeness. And you may be pardoned if you neglect your work for a few minutes to converse with Robespierre."

There was an insinuating softness in his tone as he spoke that made her nerves creep and increased her loathing for him. He sat leaning back negligently in his chair, and she stood looking down upon him like some superb creature from another world.

"By the power of beauty," he exclaimed suddenly, "you are a glorious woman! I have always said that only among women of the people is true beauty to be found."

She neither moved nor spoke, but stood still as a statue.

He leaned forward in his chair. "You shall lay aside your broom and dust-rags. I would see more of you. I have it. You shall be the Goddess of Beauty at our next great fÊte. In that rÔle Robespierre himself will render you homage." Rising, he took one of her hands in his.

She shuddered. It was as if a snake had coiled itself about her fingers. The contact with her soft hand sent just a drop of blood to his sallow cheek.

"What sayst thou, O glorious creature? Wilt thou be a goddess of beauty and sit enthroned upon the Champ de Mars, dressed in radiant clothing, instead of these poor garments?" He spoke in low tones meant to be tender.

Again the vision of Charlotte Corday flashed before her.

"No, no!" she cried out, more in answer to the thought that terrified her than to his question.

"Fear nothing, fair one," he said soothingly. "Robespierre is only terrible to the guilty; to the good he is always magnanimous and kind. Some say that I abuse my power, but that is false. True, I condemn many, but 'tis done with justice; and I also pardon many. Should I receive no credit for my clemency?" he continued, as if he were arguing with some unseen personage.

He released her hand and leaned his elbow on the desk. Her hand fell cold and numb to her side, but the spell in which he had held her was broken. A sudden daring resolve entered her head.

"I have been told that you were a cruel monster, who condemned for the pleasure of condemning; who did not know the meaning of clemency," she said, "and therefore I am afraid of you."

"They have maligned me," he answered.

"Will you prove it by granting me a pardon, one that I can use as I may wish?"

Robespierre became alert on the instant.

"You would set some man at liberty?"

"Yes."

"Your lover, is it not?"

"I pray you, do not ask me."

"Do not ask you!" repeated Robespierre. "And yet you ask me to pardon him. Why should I do it?"

"To prove that you know what clemency is."

"I would rather show it in some other way. I should be a fool to set your lover at liberty, so that you both might laugh at me."

"I have not said that it was my lover."

"No, but I say so."

"You said a moment ago that you knew what mercy was, yet you cannot understand my feeling at the thought that he must die."

Robespierre took up a pen from the table and poised it over a sheet of paper. The pleading look in the beautiful eyes gave him great enjoyment, and he took a keen relish in prolonging it.

"A few words from my pen," he said tantalizingly, "would set the man at liberty. How would you reward me if I wrote them for you?"

"Oh, I pray you to do so," she cried out, throwing herself at his feet. "I pray you to write them. If you have the power, use it for mercy."

Robespierre gazed deep into the eyes which looked up at him imploringly.

"Who are you?" he demanded with the energy of sudden passion. "You are no woman of the common people. Who are you?"

"One who would have you do a noble action," she answered. "One who is pleading with you for your own soul's sake."

"Whoever you may be, you have bewitched me. Promise you will come hence with me, and I will write the release."

"Write it," she whispered faintly.

Robespierre dashed off a few hurried lines.

"What is the fellow's name?" he asked.

"Sign the paper," she murmured, dropping her eyes. "I implore you, do not ask me his name. Let me fill that in."

"I will free no man from prison unless I know his name," replied Robespierre.

"I will never tell you that," she replied, rising to her feet and going to the other side of the desk, "never."

"What foolish nonsense," he complained, signing his name. "Now," he continued, shaking the sand box over the wet ink, "tell me his name, and I will send this pardon to the conciergerie at once. See, I have written 'immediate release' upon it. You have only to tell me his name. Do you still hesitate?"

There was a sudden rattle in the drawer on EdmÉ's side of the desk. Leaning forward, she brought one hand down upon the paper, while with the other she pointed a pistol at Robespierre's head.

He turned deadly white and drew back in his chair.

"Would you murder me?" he gasped out.

"WOULD YOU MURDER ME?"

"If you make one movement," she replied, "Marat's fate will be yours." He cringed further away from the muzzle of the weapon that stared him in the face. With one hand she folded up the document and put it in the bosom of her dress, all the while keeping the pistol aimed steadily at him.

"Now," she continued coolly, "you have the key of the door. Make no movement," she added quickly, bringing the pistol still nearer him, "but tell me where to find it."

"It is in the door now," he snarled.

She came cautiously around the corner of the desk, still keeping the weapon leveled at his head.

He rose to his feet and sprang toward her. The pistol snapped. He caught her by the wrist. Then pinning both her arms to her side with his arms about her waist he breathed in her ear:—

"You cannot fire a pistol that is not loaded, though you did startle me. Now give me that paper."

EdmÉ did not speak, but struggled desperately to break from his grasp. She determined that he might kill her before she would give back the paper. So fiercely did she struggle that he had to exert all his strength to hold her.

"I'll have that paper again if I have to strangle you to get it!" he muttered through his teeth. He succeeded in holding down both arms with one of his, leaving his left arm free.

Before he could make use of it, he felt himself seized from behind. His nerves, strained by his previous fright, gave way completely at this unexpected attack. Uttering a cry, he released his hold completely.

"Save yourself; I will not hold you to your promise!" cried a voice. EdmÉ waited to hear nothing more, but darted swiftly from the room, leaving the baffled Robespierre confronted by La LibertÉ.

For a moment he stood still, his surprise rendering him incapable of speech or action. La LibertÉ walked jauntily to the door through which EdmÉ had just vanished, locked it, and stuck the key in her belt beside the knife she always wore there.

"Do you know what you are doing, you mad creature?" cried Robespierre, running to the door and putting his hand upon the latch. "Unlock this door at once."

"Wait a moment; I have something to say to you," was La LibertÉ's rejoinder.

"Give me that key instantly, do you hear?" he yelled, stamping his foot upon the floor. "You do not know what you are doing."

"I know," said La LibertÉ, nodding her head. "I have seen and heard everything; I have been watching you from the door of the back staircase."

"The back staircase!" exclaimed Robespierre, starting toward it.

"You need not trouble to go to it. I locked that door when I came in."

Robespierre came toward her, furious with passion. "I will have none of your escapades," he said fiercely; "give me that key or I will"—

"Keep off! keep off!" cried out La LibertÉ, bounding lightly out of his reach with a little mocking laugh. "Don't catch me about the waist; I carry my sting there."

"You wasp! I will crush you!" he cried out, foaming with rage.

"Better take care how you handle wasps," was her rejoinder as she perched herself upon the edge of a desk and shook her brown curls defiantly at him.

"Come, LibertÉ," he said, trying a coaxing tone, although his anger almost choked him; "I know you will open the door at once when I tell you that woman has obtained from me by a skillful ruse a pardon in blank. I don't know whose name will be filled in. Perhaps some great enemy of the Republic will be set at liberty, unless I can send word at once to the conciergerie and forestall it."

"I know who will be liberated," sang La LibertÉ, swinging her feet.

"You do!" vociferated Robespierre in genuine astonishment. "Is this a plot? Are you concerned in it?" And he came toward her, his small eyes winking rapidly.

"You don't get it yet," laughed La LibertÉ, sliding over to the other side of the desk. "I am concerned in enough of a plot to keep you from sending to the scaffold a man to whom I've taken a fancy. I do not very often take a particular interest in any one person, but when I do, it is lasting." And she regarded him airily from her point of vantage.

"I'll send you to the guillotine," hissed Robespierre between his teeth, striking his clenched fist upon the desk in front of him. "I'll have you arrested to-night. I'll bear with you no longer. I have permitted you to swagger around in public, to come into the Jacobin Club and flourish your pistols, because it amused the populace, and I laughed with them at your antics; but now you have overstepped the line. This meddling with national affairs will cost you your life."

For a moment La LibertÉ confronted him from behind her barricade, her eyes darting fire.

"How dare you threaten me!" she cried shrilly.

"You have conspired against the Republic; you shall pay for it," he repeated, his fingers working convulsively as if he would like to lay hands upon her.

"My name is La LibertÉ," she said proudly, drawing herself up. "I am a child of the Revolution. I have drunk of her blood. Do you think, Robespierre, to terrify me with your shining toy, the guillotine? Bah! I snap my fingers at it;" and speaking thus, she advanced toward him, one hand resting on the dagger at her hip. He fell back before her, step by step, until they reached the door. Voices were heard outside and some one tried to enter.

"Break the door down, whoever you are!" cried Robespierre. "Kick the panel in; throw your whole weight against it."

"We are Hanneton and ClÉment, clerks; we found the rear doorway locked"—

"Break in, I say!" called out Robespierre impatiently.

The hall reverberated with the noise of an attack made by Hanneton's heavy shoes and ClÉment's shoulder.

La LibertÉ inserted the key in the lock. "I might as well open it now," she said, throwing back the door.

The two clerks stood on the threshold in open-mouthed surprise.

La LibertÉ passed them like a fawn and sped swiftly down the staircase.

"We were merely returning to finish up a little work," stammered ClÉment, who was the first to recover the use of his tongue; "but if we intrude"—

"Come in," interrupted Robespierre quickly. "I have an errand of importance for you." Seating himself at a table, he dashed off two short notes. The clerks exchanged glances from time to time.

"Here!" said Robespierre looking at ClÉment, and sealing the letters as he spoke. "You look the less stupid. Take this at once to the keeper of the conciergerie, then report to me in person at my house. You other fellow, take this to Commandant Henriot. You will find him either at the HÔtel de Ville or at the Jacobin Club. Tell him to report to me in person. Now go, both of you."

The two clerks did not wait to be twice bidden, and Robespierre followed them from the room.

An hour later the commandant stood before the president of the committee in his own house.

"Well," asked Robespierre, "have you executed the warrant?"

"The Citizeness LibertÉ has been incarcerated in the Luxembourg prison," was the reply.

Robespierre's eyes blinked rapidly. "She is a child of the Revolution," he repeated softly, "and does not fear my toy."

Upon Henriot's heels entered ClÉment. Robespierre turned to him eagerly.

"Fifteen minutes before I reached the conciergerie, a prisoner, named Robert Tournay, was liberated on a release signed by you, citizen president. It was delivered by a woman," was the brief report.

An oath sprang to Robespierre's lips. "Tournay!" he cried out. "So it was Tournay whom that woman has freed. The man is dangerous," he continued, speaking to himself. "He should have perished long ago had I not wished to get at Hoche through him. But he shall not escape me; nor shall the woman."

"Henriot," he exclaimed in his next breath, "order every route leading out of the city guarded. Lodge information at every section for the arrest of Robert Tournay, and of one other, a woman."

"Yes, citizen president, and who"—

"Wait, I will write her description for you," cried Robespierre. "There it is. Now be prompt, my patriot. We can still recapture our prisoner, and then"—He did not complete the sentence, but his teeth came together with a snap, and he drew his thin lips over them tightly.