Raoul kicked one leg against the other. He was ill at ease, as any one could have seen had they taken the trouble to watch him. Soufflot, the seed shopman, seated on an overturned box in the market gardener’s room, was holding forth as usual to some of his cronies. Dian sat apart from the others, his hands folded on his knees. Raoul came up to him, and stood before him, looking up at him. He had gone with his master to the country the day after he had made fun of Humphrey at the West Barricade, more than a fortnight ago now, and so he had not seen Dian since.

“Good day, master shepherd. It’s a long time since we’ve walked out together, but now that you’re acquainted with the city perhaps you’ll not want my company.” He hesitated a moment and then he colored all over his honest face as he went on, “I’m none too proud of taunting the funny fat man at the West Barricade.”

Dian smiled. “It was not a thing of which to be proud, that I’m bound to say. One can go far if one has Humphrey Trail for a friend. The best thing for you to do, if you are sorry, is to tell him so. Mayhap you’ll be able to do something to atone for it one day! As for a walk, I’ll be glad to go out with you. There’s too much talking here, words that do nothing and mean less.” As he spoke, Dian rose to his great height and put his cloak about his shoulders. He crossed the room and had his hand on the knob of the door when something that Soufflot said made him pause.

“We can take what we want, that’s what we can do. There was plenty of grab awhile ago, but things are getting soft. I say let’s pillage!”

“There’s plenty of plunder about. Last week the jewels from a rue Royale shop were scattered from one end of the street to the other. The aristocrats and the anti-patriots are filling every jail in the city. We are taking over the best houses now for official headquarters.”

“What houses?” It was Dian who asked the question.

“I’ve a list.” Soufflot’s friend, a blacksmith of the Saint Antoine district, drew a paper from his pocket as he replied. He was thought well of in his district as a zealous patriot, and he enjoyed the importance. “We were each given one of these lists at the meeting of our section last night. I was sorry not to see you there, farmer,” he said, looking across at Dian, who still stood by the door. “Let’s see,” he went on, “they still have a number of decisions to make as to houses for official headquarters. There are any number whose former occupants have gone—so!” As he spoke the blacksmith dashed his hand across his throat, making a grating click with his tongue against his teeth.

The seed shopman laughed and so did the market gardener. The blacksmith pondered over his list.

“The hotel of the De Roumande family near the corner of the square by the Pont-Saint Michel. The hotel of the Framandes at 80 Champs Élysées, all the hotels of aristocrats within two blocks of the Place de la Concorde. The hotel of the Marquise du Ganne at 90 rue du Paradis.” The blacksmith chuckled. “The old bird croaked out some little time ago. Our authorities took care of the interment; and we’ve taken care of the niece, too; the proud Comtesse Saint Frère. She’s there safe as can be!”

Dian opened the door and went out, followed by Raoul. They walked away from the gates toward the city. Dian was silent, thinking how best to take the direction of the house of the Marquise du Ganne without arousing Raoul’s suspicions. He felt thankful enough when the boy spoke.

“I would like to see some of these houses of the aristocrats. They say any citizen may go in. Let’s go to the Framande house. I used to keep the cooks there in stitches of laughter, turning somersaults all up and down the kitchens when I brought the fresh produce in.”

Dian nodded assent. “Well enough then, if you like. I, too, would not mind a glimpse at some of them. You know the way, so I’ll follow your lead,” he said.

They walked up the great wide avenue, turning on to it from the rue Royale. Raoul looked back over his shoulder. At the end of the avenue the great giant guillotine showed black against a blue spring sky.

“I’ll tell you something I saw, Shepherd, if you’ll keep a quiet tongue in your head. There is a boy shut up in the bakery shop, the big, smart one on the rue Saint Honoré. I saw him quite by accident. I’ve not told any one. He’s an aristocrat, I’m sure; he had on a velvet suit.”

Raoul then told Dian everything he knew as they walked toward the Framande house. It was natural enough that the shepherd should question him, and he found out that, as far as Raoul could tell, the prisoner had looked well, had been dressed in his usual way, and had had a tray of milk and cakes carried up to him by a woman whom Raoul declared to be kind.

“He could have worse than her looking after him, whoever he is. She’s given me many a cup of hot coffee and a cake on cold days. She’s good enough; but the boy’s in bad hands if he’s a prisoner of her husband! He’ll have him up before the Tribunal for trial when the time is ripe. You mark my words, he’s going to get some sort of plum for himself out of this pudding!” Dian listened to Raoul in silence, making no comment except to ask a few questions. Since he had found the note in the cake he had waited quietly for the next development. He trusted that he would be shown the right way and he had spoken confidently to Humphrey Trail when that impetuous soul longed for action.

He was thinking of Humphrey and of Rosanne as he walked with Raoul along the Champs Élysées. He saw Humphrey every day and he knew that Rosanne was safe with Vivi, but he realized, as did also the Yorkshire man, that Rosanne must not remain longer in the alley. Vivi was out now playing about the gates and plying her father’s trade of selling licorice water. She was the best little soul in the world, and she loved Rosanne, but she was very young and she had never learned to keep things to herself. She might, without meaning to, say something which would cause suspicion and bring an investigating body of citizen soldiers to the alley. There was only one place where Rosanne could be safe until the opportunity came to take her out of Paris, and that was in the hidden cellar.

They found a noisy mob about the Framande house and sights that were bad to see, for the crowds were out looting and robbing and killing. They turned away, glad to be on a quiet street, and walked on in silence a few minutes. Then Dian said:

“There were other houses. There was one on the rue du Paradis, the Du Ganne place, was it not? Let us see what is going on there.”

Raoul nodded. “I know that one well, too. The old lady used to give great parties. She’s dead now, and her niece is prisoner there. I’d like to have a look at her!”

The house of the Marquise du Ganne was gloomy and big and forbidding. At the wide entrance door they were challenged by a soldier in the uniform of the Republic, who called:

“Who goes there? Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!”

Dian and Raoul answered: “Friends. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!” and went inside.

In the center of a long hall some men in uniform sat writing at a table. Citizens of Paris, some rough and ragged, walked about, but, for the most part, the place was quiet. One of the men glanced up from his writing and, when he saw Dian, nodded and beckoned to him. Dian went over to the table, recognizing him as one of the men who had attended Soufflot’s supper.

“Could you do me the favor of glancing at this, Shepherd? They say you know how to write and read well, and that”—the man peered up at Dian as he spoke—“that seems a passing strange thing for a shepherd.”

“The evenings are long in the country districts, citizen. I have worked through them until late into the night to glean the little knowledge I possess. But what is it I can do for you?” Dian replied.

“Just take a look at this notice I’ve written out and see if it’s readable to your eyes. Marat can’t do much more than write his name, so why should I care about doing any better?” As he spoke the official handed the sheet to Dian, who bent over it.

“There are some words I could change for you, and with your permission I’ll do it,” Dian said. The man consented and Dian sat down at the table and, painstakingly and slowly, corrected the garbled writing. Then he read it out to the official, who nodded with approval.

“You’ve done that well. You are clever, I see,” he commented, taking the paper from Dian and leaning back in his chair and yawning.

Dian was silent for a minute. He wanted to ask if there was any possibility of going through the house, hoping to get a word with the comtesse as he went through. He did not know just how to word his request without arousing suspicion. Raoul helped him out. He ran up to the table just then.

“Oh, citizen Parnette, do let us see the prisoner. Just one look is all I want,” he begged.

Citizen Parnette frowned. What an impudent youngster this messenger boy of his friend, the market gardener, was, to be sure!

“It’s not done, as a rule. They’d be up there, every last one of them, if they knew we had an aristocrat in keeping. Well, it won’t be for long now. She will go to La Force I daresay. You can have a look for friendship’s sake, but keep a quiet tongue about it. Go up the back stairway and straight down a hall. She’s in a room at the left and you can see her because the upper corner of the door is broken through. The mob did that when we first took the house over. She was in the west wing then, but we moved her to the other side.” The official bent over his writing, and Dian and Raoul went on through the long hall to the back of the house.

“Go on ahead of me, my lad. I’ll warrant you’ll take the steps three at a time, and I would take my leisure,” Dian said to Raoul as they came to the foot of a long flight of stairs. How often had the old comte spoken to him of this house of his aunt’s where he had spent so many days of his youth!

Raoul ran on up the steps three at a time, just as Dian had said he would. When he was well on in front, Dian took a small notebook and a piece of charcoal from the inner pocket of his cloak and, placing the book against the tapestry wall at the side of the stairs, wrote these words:

“Tear this after reading. Lisle is imprisoned in the bakery shop at rue Saint Honoré. I shall find a way to save him and to save you. Mademoiselle de Soigné is safe with friends. Keep up your courage. Dian.”

Then he went on up the stairs and down the hall. Raoul was already looking through the small, shattered paling at the side of the heavy, nail-studded door. There was a red brocaded curtain in front of the door. Raoul looked back over his shoulder.

“My, she’s grand and solemn looking. She’s sitting by the window!” He moved away so that Dian could peer through. The shepherd hesitated. It was not to his liking, this looking in on a woman, but he wanted to see what the room was like and to pass his note to the comtesse. He put his eyes to the opening and saw the comtesse sitting, as Raoul had said, by the narrow window, dressed in her black frock, her hands folded in her lap.

Raoul had roamed on down the hall, peering in at doors and shuffling his feet along the velvet carpet as he went.

Dian said softly, “Come to the door, Madame.”

The comtesse heard him, gave a start, and then came quickly across the room, both hands at her heart. She saw his face and recognized him at once. There was no time for more than a word. He dropped the note at her feet, whispering, “Be ready when I come.” Then he turned away and joined Raoul, who was already shuffling toward him.

They walked back toward the West Barricade together, and, as they walked, Raoul asked inquisitively: “Why do you not take us to your lodgings? Where is it that you stay?”

“I am lodging with friends. It is a dark, cold place, and there are rats about; but, because it is my friend’s house I am well pleased at being there. Listen to me well, Raoul! Would you like to prove yourself a lad to be trusted? You say you are sorry for hurting the honest farmer, Humphrey Trail. Would you like to do him a service?”

“Maybe,” answered Raoul in his teasing way; but Dian knew that he was teasing.

“See, Raoul, I am treating you as a man. I am trusting you. Does that mean something to you?”

Raoul nodded. “Yes, Master Shepherd, I like you. I would serve you,” he answered simply.

“Then listen well. I would ask you to take a letter to Champar, the cross-eyed coach driver on the Amiens road. The crossroad where he turns toward Melon is only a few miles from your master’s farm. You are simply to hand him the letter and say nothing.” Dian looked down earnestly at Raoul’s simple, round face.

“You may trust me right well, Shepherd,” Raoul said. “I’ll see that Champar gets the letter safe enough.”

They had reached the gates, and they stood for a while watching the carts go through. Suddenly they saw Vivi. She carried a tray from which dangled a row of tin cups, and on the top of which was balanced a tall pewter jug.

“Licorice water, licorice water! Who’s thirsty?” she called out at intervals, and she did quite a thriving trade as she went about among the people.

“Hi there, girl, another cup for me. Sacré, it’s a poor drink, but I don’t see any wine kegs about, and it’s thirsty work seeing that no aristocrats get through the gates,” said a soldier coming up to her.

Vivi grinned at him from under her straggling black locks as she poured some of the sweet grey mixture into one of the cups. She liked to have adventures so that she could tell Rosanne about them at night. She meant to stop at a little shop she knew on the rue Saint Antoine and buy a bit of sweet cake as a treat for Rosanne’s supper. Now that she had a few pennies to spend she liked to buy some little thing to cheer her friend, for whom the days dragged slowly.

“Let me go through the gates, Georges Fardou, just for fun,” she pleaded.

The soldier in charge gave a good-natured laugh and looked down at her.

“That’s so, you’re poor old one-legged Ranboeau’s brat. That was a bad deal your father got when the lumber fell. Let you through the gates, is it? What would you do on the other side?” he asked.

“Pick some flowers and come right back,” answered Vivi, hitching up the tray which was held about her neck by a leather strap.

The soldier in charge laughed and turned to another.

“She wants to pick some flowers on the other side of the gates. Well, go through and see how many you’ll find!” He held open the gate far enough for Vivi to step through, and they all laughed at her as she looked about curiously.

“It’s a great sight, isn’t it? No one was curious until they had to stay this side, but since the gates have been locked you’d think they thought the fields of paradise were just near by,” laughed Georges Fardou.

There were no flowers, only a long stretch of road, the vanishing bulk of a market cart in the distance, and the vivid spring sky above. Vivi looked about her and then, putting her tray down, began to dance and sing:

The soldiers looked on, calling out approvingly:

“That’s good. She might be a sans-culotte herself! Give us the 'Ça Ira,’ too!”

Vivi danced and sang with all her might, enjoying the attention she got very much. When Fardou called her, she picked up her tray and came inside the gates, making a bow to the guard, who bowed mockingly in return.

“Thank you, citizeness, for the entertainment. We shall see you one day at the Comédie Française, I daresay,” he remarked.

“Thank you, Georges Fardou, for letting me outside the gates. It is not so nice there as I thought.” She swung her leather strap over her shoulder and went on crying her wares: “Licorice water, who wants licorice water!”

Dian left Raoul and went to Humphrey Trail’s room in the alley. He had not expected to find Humphrey in, but was only too glad to see his broad kindly face looking around the corner of the door as he came up the stairs.

“I’ve seen Madame Saint Frère,” Dian said as soon as he came into the room. Then he proceeded to tell Humphrey all about the morning. Humphrey’s face shone.

“Tha has done well and there’s now a bit o’ light ahead. Th’ young lad, to think, he is in the bakery shop. How shall we save th’ lad?” Humphrey wrung his fat hands together as he spoke.

“We shall do it, Humphrey Trail, and, if I have done well, you have done better, for though I have dreams and the hope that they will come true, you have already saved a little girl.” Dian smiled his slow smile and Humphrey Trail answered him:

“Tha has something more than I ha’! Tha has trust!” As he spoke Humphrey sighed, longing for the confidence which made Dian so sure that Lisle would be rescued. He thought of the letter which Dian was holding until he found the right messenger to deliver it to Champar, the trusted coach driver, who would, in turn, give it into the hands of Grigge, who lived at the gates of the Saint Frère demesne.