Ombreval stood by the window.

He had spent the time of her absence in the care of his clothes, and he had contrived to dress himself with some semblance of his old-time elegance which enhanced his good looks and high-born air.
"You seem to utterly forget, Monsieur, the nature of the charge upon which he has been arraigned," she said, in a tired voice.
"Why, no," he answered, and he smiled airily; "he was sufficiently a fool to be lured by the brightest eyes in France into a service for their mistress.

My faith! He's not the first by many a thousand whom a woman's soft glances have undone--" "The degree in which you profit by the service he is doing those bright eyes, appears singularly beneath the dignity of your notice." "What a jester you are becoming, ma mie," he laughed and at the sound she shuddered again and drew mechanically nearer to the fire as though her shuddering was the result of cold.
"It is yet possible that he may not die," she said almost as if speaking to herself.

"They have offered him his liberty, and his reinstatement even--upon conditions." "How interesting!" he murmured nonchalantly.

"They have an odd way of dispensing justice." "The conditions imposed are that he shall amend the wrong he has done, and deliver up to the Convention the person of one ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval." "My God!" It was a gasp of sudden dismay that broke from the young nobleman.