"I saw her here . . . two days ago. . . . You remember, citizen . . . after you . . ."
"Yes, yes!" Chauvelin cried impatiently.
"Sergeant Chazot took me to the cavalry barracks. . . . They gave me to drink . . . and I don't remember much what happened. But when I was myself again, I know that my arm was very sore, and when I looked down I saw this awful mark on it. . . . I was just outside the Arsenal then. . . . How I got there I don't know. . . . I suppose Sergeant Chazot brought me back. . . . He says I was howling for Mother Théot. . . . She has marvellous salves, you know, citizen."
"Yes, yes!"
"I came in here. . . . My head still felt very strange . . . and my arm felt like living fire. Then I heard voices . . . they came from the stairs. . . . I looked about me, and saw them standing there. . . ."
Rateau, leaning upon one arm, stretched out the other and pointed to the stairs. Chauvelin, with a violent gesture, seized him by the wrist.
"Who?" he queried harshly. "Who was standing there?"
His glance followed the direction in which the coalheaver was pointing, then instinctively wandered back and fastened on that fiery letter "M" which had been seared into the vagabond's flesh.
"The Englishman and citoyenne Cabarrus," Rateau replied feebly, for he had winced with pain under the excited grip of the Terrorist.
"You are certain?"