Just's?"
"If you render me useful service to-night, citoyenne," he
replied with a sarcastic smile, "I will give you that letter. . .
to-morrow."
"You do not trust me?"
"I trust you absolutely, dear lady, but St. Just's life is
forfeit to his country. . .it rests with you to redeem it."
"I may be powerless to help you," she pleaded, "were I ever so
willing."
"That would be terrible indeed," he said quietly, "for
you. . .and for St. Just."
Marguerite shuddered. She felt that from this man she could
expect no mercy. All-powerful, he held the beloved life in the hollow
of his hand. She knew him too well not to know that, if he failed in
gaining his own ends, he would be pitiless.
She felt cold in spite of the oppressive air of opera-house.
The heart-appealing strains of the music seemed to reach her, as from
a distant land. She drew her costly lace scarf up around her
shoulders, and sat silently watching the brilliant scene, as if in a
dream.
For a moment her thoughts wandered away from the loved one who
was in danger, to that other man who also had a claim on her
confidence and her affection.
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