CHAPTER XVI
BENEATH THE MASK
An atmosphere of secrecy seemed to pervade Robespierre's house, and Tournay, following the servant along the dimly lighted corridor, passed his hand over his eyes, as one brushes away the fine cobwebs that come across the face in going through the woods.
The rustle of a gown fell upon his ear as he entered the salon, and at the further end of the apartment he saw a woman who had evidently risen at his entrance, and now stood irresolute, with one hand on the latch of a door leading into an adjoining room, as if she had intended making her exit unobserved by him.
She stood in such a manner that the shadow of the half-open door fell across her face, but he could see that she was a young woman of small stature and well proportioned figure. At the sound of his voice she allowed her hand to fall from the latch, then lifting her head erect, walked toward him.
"La Liberté!" ejaculated Tournay. He had not seen her since the day he had left her dancing on the cannon-truck, winecup in hand; but she still kept her girlish look, and except in her dress she had not greatly changed.
She still showed a partiality for bright colors, by her gown of deep crimson. But the material was of velvet instead of the simple woolen stuff she used to wear. Her hair, which had once curled about her forehead and been tossed about by the wind, was now coiled upon her head, from which a few locks, as if rebellious at confinement, had fallen on her neck and shoulders. She wore nothing on her head but a tricolored knot of ribbon, the color of the Republic.
"How does it happen that we meet here?" asked Tournay after a moment, during which he had gazed at her in surprise.
"Never mind about me for the present," she said, looking up in his face, half defiantly, half admiringly; for as he stood before her, framed in the open door, he was a striking picture, with his handsome, bronzed face and brilliant uniform.