From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the dead man's face--and he stepped back.
"Ah!" he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, "now I remember. I was always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it it was like that--like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place de la Nation, on a tumbrel--going to the guillotine. He must have escaped, as many did, by some accident or mistake."
He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his two clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he turned and pointed to the silent form on the bed.
"That is a noble of France," he said; "one of the greatest. And all France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his name--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!"
CHA
