"Indeed, I think he proved himself one though he was a stranger. His name was Latour, he told me."
Barrington mentioned the name with set purpose. Over the wine the stranger had certainly expressed distrust of Lucien Bruslart, an aristocrat turned patriot. The question of Bruslart's honesty had been in Barrington's mind all day. It would be worth noting what effect the name had upon his companion.
"Latour? Raymond Latour?" said Bruslart, starting to his feet, more alert than he had yet been since Barrington had entered the room.
"The same. What do you know of him?"
"No more than all Paris knows, monsieur, but it is enough. He is a red republican, a leading man among the Jacobins, hand in glove with all who hate aristocrats. We need look no further for Jeanne's betrayer."
"I am not so certain of his hatred against all aristocrats," said Barrington, slowly.
"He has a tongue that would persuade the devil himself to believe in him," said Bruslart.
"And I do not think he knew who was in the coach," Barrington went on. "I have a reason for saying so, and I may find out the truth presently."
"You are a stranger in Paris, you cannot hope to be a match for Raymond Latour."
"At least there is work for me to do in this matter, and I shall not run needlessly into danger. Freedom is precious to us both, monsieur, at the present time, since we must use it to help mademoiselle. You pose as a leader of the people, therefore some authority you must have; tell me, what power have you to open the door of mademoiselle's prison?"