He had scarcely disappeared before
Trudaine crossed the room, and caught Lomaque
by the arm.

"Save her," he whispered; " there is an
opportunity—save her!" His face was flushed
—his eyes wandered—his breath on the chief-
agent's cheek, while he spoke, felt scorching
hot. "Save her!" he repeated, shaking
Lomaque by the arm, and dragging him
towards the door. " Remember all you owe
to my father—remember our talk on that
bench by the river—remember what you said
to me yourself on the night of the arrest—
don't wait to think—save her, and leave me
without a word! If I die alone, I can die as
a man should—if she goes to the scaffold by
my side, my heart will fail me—I shall die
the death of a coward! I have lived for her
life—let me die for it, and I die happy!"

He tried to say more, but the violence of
his agitation forbade it. He could only shake
the arm he held again and again, and point to
the bench on which Rose sat—her head sunk
on her bosom, her hands crossed listlessly on
her lap.

"There are two armed sentinels outside—
the windows are barred—you are without
weapons—and even if you had them, there is
a guard-house within hail on one side of you,
and the tribunal on the other. Escape from
this room is impossible," answered Lomaque.

"Impossible!" repeated the other furiously.

"You traitor! you coward! can you look at
her sitting there helpless—her very life ebbing
away already with every minute that passes—
and tell me coolly that escape is impossible?"

In the frenzy of his grief and despair, he
lifted his disengaged hand threateningly
while he spoke. Lomaque caught him by the
wrist, and drew him towards a window open
at the top.

"You are not in your right senses," said
the chief-agent firmly; " anxiety and
apprehension on your sister's account have shaken
your mind. Try to compose yourself, and
listen to me. I have something important to
say—" (Trudaine looked at him incredulously.)
"Important," continued Lomaque,
"as affecting your sister's interests at this
terrible crisis."

That last appeal had an instantaneous
effect. Trudaine's outstretched hand dropped
to his side, and a sudden change passed over
his expression.

"Give me a moment," he said faintly; and,
turning away, leaned against the wall, and
pressed his burning forehead on the chill,
damp stone. He did not raise his head again
till he had mastered himself, and could say
quietly, " Speak—I am fit to hear you, and
sufficiently in my senses to ask your forgiveness
for what I said just now."

"When I left the tribunal and entered
this room," Lomaque began, in a whisper;
"there was no thought in my mind that
could be turned to good account, either for
your sister or for you. I was fit for nothing
but to deplore the failure of the confession
which I came to St. Lazare to suggest to you
as your best plan of defence. Since then, an
idea has struck me. which may be useful—an
idea so desperate, so uncertain—involving a
proposal so absolutely dependent, as to its
successful execution, on the merest chance,
that I refuse to confide it to you except on
one condition."

" Mention the condition! I submit to it
beforehand."

"Give me your word of honour that you
will not mention what I am about to say to
your sister until I grant you permission to
speak. Promise me that when you see her
shrinking before the terrors of death to-night,
you will have self-restraint enough to abstain
from breathing a word of hope to her. I ask
this, because there are ten—twenty—fifty
chances to one that there is no hope."

"I have no choice but to promise," answered
Trudaine.

Lomaque produced his pocket-book and
pencil before he spoke again.

"I will enter into particulars as soon as I
have asked a strange question of you," he
said. " You. have been a great experimenter
in chemistry in your time—is your mind calm
enough at such a trying moment as this to
answer a question which is connected with
chemistry in a very humble way? You seem
astonished. Let me put the question at once.
Is there any liquid, or powder, or
combination of more than one ingredient known,
which will remove writing from paper, and
leave no stain behind?"

"Certainly! But is that all the question?
Is there no greater difficulty—?"

"None. "Write the prescription, whatever
it may be, on that leaf," said the other, giving
him the pocket-book. " Write it down, with
plain directions for use." Trudaine obeyed.
"This is the first step," continued Lomaque,
putting the book in his pocket, " towards the
accomplishment of my purpose—my uncertain
purpose, remember! Now listen; I am going
to put my own head in danger for the chance
of saving your's and your sister's by tampering
with the death-list. Don't interrupt me! If
I can save one, I can save the other. Not a
word about gratitude! Wait till you know
the extent of your obligation. I tell you
plainly, at the outset, there is a motive of
despair, as well as a motive of pity, at the
bottom of the action in which I am now about
to engage. Silence! I insist on it. Our time
is short: it is for me to speak, and for you to
listen. The president of the tribunal has put
the death-mark against your names on the
prison list of to-day. That list, when the
trials are over, and it is marked to the end,
will be called in this room before you are
taken to St. Lazare. It will then be sent to
Robespierre, who will keep it, having a copy
made of it the moment it is delivered, for
circulation among his colleagues—St. Just, and
the rest. It is my business to make a duplicate