"Ma foi, Citizen, Paris does not stand still."
He bit his lip.
"But here, in this house?"
"I am well, I have said so before."
He turned as if to go.
"And the Citoyenne Roche?" He had his voice in hand now, and the question had a careless ring.
"Gone," said Rosalie curtly.
In a flash that veil of carelessness had dropped. His hand fell heavily upon her shoulder.
"Gone—where?" he asked tensely.
"Where every one goes these days, these fine days. To prison, to the guillotine. They all go there."