“Undoubtedly. It was also he who sent Laroche to you with the message that madame was ill.”
Then in a flash I remembered where I had heard the name.
“Pasdeloup is right!” I cried. “When Dubosq was placing the sentries in the garden I heard him say that it was from Citizen Goujon he had his orders. But this Goujon cannot be such a bad fellow, since he gave peremptory orders that the women were not to be harmed.”
“Did he so?” asked M. le Comte with a quick breath of relief. “Then it is only me he hates—it is only me he seeks. Well, I can face death. But when I saw that we were abandoned to this mob I fancied—I fancied——”
“Do not fear, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup in a strange voice. “This mob has leaders who will also take care to deliver the women unharmed into the hands of Citizen Goujon.”
“Well, and what then?” demanded his master. “Why do you speak in that tone?”
“Because, monsieur,” answered Pasdeloup grimly, “you do not know Goujon. Hatred of monsieur was not the only reason which led to this attack.”
“What other reason was there?”
Pasdeloup looked down at the mob, then away to the east toward Dange, his lips compressed.
“Come, tell me!” commanded his master. “This is not the time for hesitancies.”