"His name ?" he asked indifferently, as he dipped his quill in the ink-horn and scratched his signature at the foot of it.
"An aristocrat," said Caron, with some slight hesitancy.
"Eh ?" And the arched brows drew together for an instant.

"But no matter.
There are enough and to spare even for Fouquier-Tinvillle's voracious appetite.

His name ?" "The ci-devant Vicomte Antole d'Ombreval." "Qui-ca ?" The question rang sharp as a pistol-shot, sounding the more fearful by virtue of the contrast with the gentle tones in which Robespierre had spoken hitherto.

The little man's face grew evil.
"d'Ombreval ?" he cried.

"But what is this man to you?
It is by your favour alone that I have let him live so long, but now--" He stopped short.