The dull eyes kindle at the mention of Caen; interest quickens in
that leaden-hued countenance. Was it not in Caen that those old
foes of his, the Girondins, were stirring up rebellion?

"She says," Simonne continued, "that she wrote a letter to you
this morning, and she brings you a second note herself. I have
told her that you will not receive anyone, and . . ."

"Give me the note," he snapped. Setting down his pen, he thrust
out an unclean paw to snatch the folded sheet from Simonne's
hand. He spread it, and read, his bloodless lips compressed, his
eyes narrowing to slits.

"Let her in," he commanded sharply, and Simonne obeyed him
without more ado. She admitted Charlotte, and left them alone
together--the avenger and her victim. For a moment each regarded
the other. Marat beheld a handsome young woman, elegantly
attired. But these things had no interest for the People's
Friend. What to him was woman and the lure of beauty? Charlotte
beheld a feeble man of a repulsive hideousness, and was full
satisfied, for in this outward loathsomeness she imagined a
confirmation of the vileness of the mind she was come to blot
out.

Then Marat spoke. "So you are from Caen, child?" he said. "And
what is doing in Caen that makes you so anxious to see me?"

She approached him.