“Faith, citizen,” said Dubosq with a laugh, “you’d better have lost your horse and spent the night under a hedge. As it is, you lose your life and enter the eternal night.”
“Yes; there’s no help for that, I suppose?”
“Not if Citizen Goujon has ordered it.”
“He did order it,” broke in one of my persecutors, who had listened to all this with ill-concealed impatience, “and at once.”
“Very well, comrade,” said Dubosq; “come along, then. But he didn’t order you to torture this fellow, and, pardieu, I’ll see that you don’t. If you have any message, Citizen—I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Tavernay,” I prompted.
“Oh, yes; I remember. Well, if you have any messages, Citizen Tavernay, I’ll be glad to take charge of them. It’s the only kindness I can do you, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks, my friend,” I answered, tears in my eyes at this unexpected favor. “If you could convey news of my death to my mother at Beaufort——”
“Consider it done,” he broke in. “Anything else?”
“Citizen,” I said, lowering my voice, “for myself I do not greatly care. But I had a companion—a pure and beautiful woman. If you can save her from death, or worse, you will be doing a noble action.”