assembled by the merchants as it was evidently necessary. One of these now effectively barred the young lawyer's passage as he attempted to mount the steps.
André-Louis announced himself in a whisper.
The stave was instantly raised from the horizontal, and he passed and went up the steps in the wake of the usher. At the top, on the threshold of the chamber, he paused, and stayed his guide.
"I will wait here," he announced. "Bring the president to me."
"Your name, monsieur?"
Almost had André-Louis answered him when he remembered Le Chapelier's warning of the danger with which his mission was fraught, and Le Chapelier's parting admonition to conceal his dentity.
"My name is unknown to him; it matters nothing; I am the mouthpiece of a people, no more. Go."
The usher went, and in the shadow of that lofty, pillared portico André-Louis waited, his eyes straying out ever and anon to survey that spread of upturned faces immediately below him.
Soon the president came, others following, crowding out into the portico, jostling one another in their eagerness to hear the news.
"You are a messenger from Rennes?"
"I am the delegate sent by the Literary Chamber of that city to inform you here in Nantes of what is taking place."
"Your name?"
André-Louis paused. "The less we mention names perhaps the better."
The president's eyes grew big with gravity. He was a corpulent, florid man, purse-proud, and self-sufficient.
He hesitated a moment. Then—"Come into the Chamber," said he.
"By your leave, monsieur, I will deliver my message from here—from these steps."
"From here?" The great merchant frowned.
