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are! 'Etienne Clary,'" the young man exclaimed in satisfaction. " 'Etienne Clary, silk merchant Marseilles.' Is that right?"
    I nodded eagerly. "But in any case," I said, "his arrest was misunderstanding."
    Citizen Buonaparte turned to me. "What was a misunderstanding?"
    "Whatever it was that led to his arrest."
    The young man looked severe. "I see. And why was arrested?"
    "Well, that we don't know," I admitted. "But at any rate I can assure you that it was a misunderstanding." Then I thought of something. "Listen," I said eagerly, "you said you know Citizen Robespierre, of the Committee of Public Safety.
    Perhaps you can tell him that Etienne's arrest was a mistake and—"
    My heart stood still. For the young man shook his head slowly and seriously. "I can do nothing about this case. There is nothing more to be done. Here—" he solemnly picked up a document—"here is the decision, entered by Deputy Albitte himself."
    He held the sheet out to me. "Read it for yourself!"
    I bent over the document. Though he was holding the -lantern quite close, I could make nothing out. I saw a few hastily written words, but the letters danced before my eyes.
    "I am so troubled, please read it to me," I said, close to tears.
    " 'The matter has been fully explained,'" he read, " 'and he has been set free.'"
    "Does that mean—" I was trembling all over—"does that mean that Etienne—?"
    "Of course! Your brother is a free man. He probably went home to his Suzanne long ago, and is now sitting with the rest of the family enjoying his supper. And the whole family are making a fuss over him and have entirely forgotten you. But—but—what's the matter, citizeness?"
    I had begun to weep helplessly. I couldn't stop, the tears ran down my cheeks, and I cried and cried; and I simply could not understand why I was crying, for I wasn't sad, I was terribly happy, and I didn't know you can weep for joy.
    'I am so glad, monsieur," I sobbed, "so glad!" It was obvious that the scene was making the young man uncomfortable. He put down the file and busied himself with things on the desk. I dug down into my "Pompadour" handbag and looked for a handkerchief, but I found I had forgotten to put one in. Then I remembered the handkerchiefs in the front of my dress, and I reached down inside the open neck. At that moment the young man looked up, and he could hardly believe his eyes. Two, three, four little handkerchiefs came out of my frock, just as if I was a conjurer.
    "I put them there so that everyone would think I was grown-up," I murmured, thinking I owed him an explanation. I was terribly ashamed. "You see, at home they treat me like a child."
    "You are no longer a child, you are a young lady," Citizen Boonopat assured me at once. "And now I'll take you home. It's not pleasant for a young lady to walk through the city alone at this time of night."
    "It is ever so kind of you, monsieur, but I cannot accept--" I began to stammer in embarrassment. "You said yourself that you wanted to go home."
    He laughed. "A friend of Robespierre permits no contradiction. We'll each have a sweet, and then go."
    He opened a drawer in the desk and held out a bag to me. In it were cherries dipped in chocolate. "Albitte always keeps sweets in his desk," he told me. "Take another chocolate cherry. Good, isn't it? Nowadays only deputies can afford sweets like these." The last sentence sounded a little bitter.
    "I live on the other side of the city; it would be very much out of your way," I said guiltily, as we were leaving. But I did not want to refuse his offer to escort me, for it's quite true that young ladies cannot be out alone in the evening without being molested. Besides, I did so like him.
    "I am so ashamed of having cried," I said a little later.
    He pressed my arm reassuringly. "I understand how you felt. I have brothers and sisters, too, and I love them. An also, sisters of about your age."
    After that I no longer felt in the least shy. "Marseilles isn't your home, is