"Awhile, at least, I am safe here," he murmured; and as he spoke, some thirty paces behind him, he beheld the spy.

He stood rooted to the spot; wearied and spent as he was, escape seemed no longer possible,--the river on one side (no bridge at hand), and the long row of mansions closing up the other.

As he halted, he heard laughter and obscene songs from a house a little in his rear, between himself and the spy.

It was a cafe fearfully known in that quarter.

Hither often resorted the black troop of Henriot,--the minions and huissiers of Robespierre.