He is right; but--" "Flight!" exclaimed Nicot; "is it possible?
Flight; how ?--when ?--by what means?
All France begirt with spies and guards! Flight! would to Heaven it were in our power!" "Dost thou, too, desire to escape the blessed Revolution ?" "Desire! Oh!" cried Nicot, suddenly, and, falling down, he clasped Glyndon's knees,--"oh, save me with thyself! My life is a torture; every moment the guillotine frowns before me.

I know that my hours are numbered; I know that the tyrant waits but his time to write my name in his inexorable list; I know that Rene Dumas, the judge who never pardons, has, from the first, resolved upon my death.

Oh, Glyndon, by our old friendship, by our common art, by thy loyal English faith and good English heart, let me share thy flight!" "If thou wilt, so be it." "Thanks!--my whole life shall thank thee.

But how hast thou prepared the means, the passports, the disguise, the--" "I will tell thee.

Thou knowest C--, of the Convention,--he has power, and he is covetous.