But the spell was still on him, and he only moved in order to straighten himself out and to force his trembling knees to be still.
"They have taken the citoyenne Cabarrus to the Conciergerie," the stranger went on simply. "To-morrow she will be charged before the Revolutionary Tribunal. . . . You know what is the inevitable end——"
It seemed as if some subtle magic was in the man's voice, in his very presence, in the glance wherewith he challenged that of the unfortunate Tallien. The latter felt a wave of shame sweep over him. There was something so splendid in these two men—exquisitely dressed, and perfectly deliberate and cool in all their movements—who were braving and daring death in order to give Christian burial to their friend; whilst he, in face of the outrage put upon his beloved, had only sat on her desecrated doorstep like a dumb animal pining for its master. He felt a hot flush rush to his cheeks. With quick, nervy movements he readjusted the set of his coat, passed his thin hands over his rumpled hair; whilst the stranger reiterated with solemn significance:
"You know what is the inevitable end. . . . The citoyenne Cabarrus will be condemned. . . ."
Tallien this time met the stranger's eyes fearlessly. It was the magic of strength and of courage that flowed into him from them. He drew up his meagre stature to its full height and his head with an air of defiance and of conscious power.
"Not while I live!" he said firmly.
"Theresia Cabarrus will be condemned to-morrow," the stranger went on calmly. "Then the next day, the guillotine——"
"Never!"
"Inevitably! . . . Unless——"
"Unless what?" Tallien queried, and hung breathless on the man's lips as he would on those of an oracle.