They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. "You are arrested for high treason," rejoined Wild, presenting a pistol at his head, while he drew forth a parchment,—"here is my warrant. "Well, he won't do that here. They took their places at a distant table. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. You never can go back. Her heart swelled to suffocation.
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