The man addressed took something from his pouch. For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sharp sound of the flint striking the steel. Then a sudden glare lit up the dark interior, and disclosed the group of cloaked strangers standing about the door, the light gleaming back from their muskets and cutlasses. Michel trembled. He had never seen such men as these before. True, they were wet and travel-stained, and had the air of those who spend their nights in ditches and under haystacks. But their pale, stern faces were set in indomitable resolve. Their eyes glowed with a steady fire, and they trod as kings tread. Their leader was a man of majestic height and beauty, and in his eyes alone there seemed to lurk a spark of some lighter fire, as if his spirit still rose above the task which had sobered his companions. Michel noted all this in fear and bewilderment; noted the white head and yet vigorous bearing of the man who had struck the light; noted even the manner in which the light died away in the dim recesses of the barn.
“And this Girondin—is he in hiding here?” said the tall man.
“That is so,” Michel answered. “But I had nothing to do with hiding him, citizen. It was my wife hid him in the straw there.”
“And you gave notice of his presence to the authorities?” continued the stranger, raising his hand to repress some movement among his followers.
“Certainly, or you would not have been here,” replied Michel, better satisfied with himself.
The answer struck him down with an awful terror. “That does not follow,” said the tall man, coolly, “for we are Girondins!”
“You are?”
“Without doubt,” the other answered, with majestic simplicity; “or there are no such persons. This is Pétion, and this Citizen Buzot. Have you heard of Louvet? There he stands. For me, I am Barbaroux.”
Michel’s tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. He could not utter a word. But another could. On the far side of the barrier a sudden rustling was heard, and while all turned to look—but with what different feelings—the pale face of the youth over whom Michel had bent in the afternoon appeared above the partition. A smile of joyful recognition effaced for the time the lines of exhaustion. The young man, clinging for support to the planks, uttered a cry of thankfulness. “It is you! It is really you! You are safe!” he exclaimed.