This lad bears a missive for you, and, having discovered me in the crowd, was begging me to deliver it for him.

Here it is." Duport took the letter with a frigid glance at me as if to say he believed not a word of the story, and mechanically tore it open.
I watched his eyebrows give a sudden twitch as he read the contents.
"Who gave you this ?" demanded he.
I repeated my story, which once more he received with an incredulous stare.
Then turning to his wife he said, half to himself, half to her,-- "From Edward Fitzgerald on behalf of his kinsman, Sillery.

But too late.

Come, Adele.

The twenty-two are before the Tribunal to-day, and I have a place for you in the gallery." And without heeding me further (for which I was devoutly thankful), he drew his wife's arm in his own and walked off rapidly in the direction of the Tuileries.
Lest my reader should suppose that my letter to Depute Duport was one of great moment to my own story, let me say at once it was not so, at least directly.