Then continued in the same even, mechanical tone of voice-- "In the corner of the paper there was the usual rough device of a small star-shaped flower.

Above it I read two lines, everything else was scorched and blackened by the flame." "And what were the two lines ?" Her throat seemed suddenly to have contracted.

For an instant she felt that she could not speak the words, which might send a brave man to his death.
"It is lucky that the whole paper was not burned," added Chauvelin, with dry sarcasm, "for it might have fared ill with Armand St.Just.

What were the two lines citoyenne ?" "One was, 'I start myself to-morrow,'" she said quietly, "the other--'If you wish to speak to me, I shall be in the supper-room at one o'clock precisely.'" Chauvelin looked up at the clock just above the mantelpiece.
"Then I have plenty of time," he said placidly.
"What are you going to do ?" she asked.
She was pale as a statue, her hands were icy cold, her head and heart throbbed with the awful strain upon her nerves.

Oh, this was cruel! cruel! What had she done to have deserved all this?
Her choice was made: had she done a vile action or one that was sublime?
The recording angel, who writes in the book of gold, alone could give an answer.
"What are you going to do ?" she repeated mechanically.
"Oh, nothing for the present.