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 Test Bank for C++ Programming: From Problem Analysis to
Program Design, 6th Edition – D.S. Malik
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Chapter 2: Basic Elements of C++

TRUE/FALSE

1. In C++, reserved words are the same as predefined identifiers.

ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 36

2. The maximum number of significant digits in values of the double type is 15.

ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 42

3. The maximum number of significant digits in float values is up to 6 or 7.

ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 42

4. An operator that has only one operand is called a unique operator.

ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 45

5. If a C++ arithmetic expression has no parentheses, operators are evaluated from left to right.

ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 46

6. A mixed arithmetic expression contains all operands of the same type.

ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 49

7. Suppose a = 5. After the execution of the statement ++a; the value of a is 6.

ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 70

8. The escape sequence \r moves the insertion point to the beginning of the next line.

ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 78

9. A comma is also called a statement terminator.

ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 90

10. Suppose that sum is an int variable. The statement sum += 7; is equivalent to the statement
sum = sum + 7;

ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 95

MULTIPLE CHOICE

1. The ____ rules of a programming language tell you which statements are legal, or accepted by the
programming language.
a. semantic c. syntax
b. logical d. grammatical
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 34

2. Which of the following is a reserved word in C++?

a. char c. CHAR
b. Char d. character
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 36

3. Which of the following is a legal identifier?

a. program! c. 1program
b. program_1 d. program 1
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 36

4. ____ is a valid int value.

a. 46,259 c. 462.59
b. 46259 d. -32.00
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 39-40

5. ____ is a valid char value.

a. -129 c. 128
b. ‘A’ d. 129
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 40

6. An example of a floating point data type is ____.

a. int c. double
b. char d. short
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 41

7. The memory allocated for a float value is ____ bytes.

a. two c. eight
b. four d. sixteen
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 42

8. The value of the expression 33/10, assuming both values are integral data types, is ____.
a. 0.3 c. 3.0
b. 3 d. 3.3
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 43-44

9. The value of the expression 17 % 7 is ____.

a. 1 c. 3
b. 2 d. 4
 ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 43-44

10. The expression static_cast<int>(9.9) evaluates to ____.

a. 9 c. 9.9
b. 10 d. 9.0
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 51

11. The expression static_cast<int>(6.9) + static_cast<int>(7.9) evaluates to ____.

a. 13 c. 14.8
b. 14 d. 15
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 51

12. The length of the string "computer science" is ____.

a. 14 c. 16
b. 15 d. 18
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 54

13. In a C++ program, one and two are double variables and input values are 10.5 and 30.6.
After the statement cin >> one >> two; executes, ____.
a. one = 10.5, two = 10.5 c. one = 30.6, two = 30.6
b. one = 10.5, two = 30.6 d. one = 11, two = 31
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 64

14. Suppose that count is an int variable and count = 1. After the statement count++;
executes, the value of count is ____.
a. 1 c. 3
b. 2 d. 4
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 70

15. Suppose that alpha and beta are int variables. The statement alpha = --beta; is equivalent
to the statement(s) ____.
a. alpha = 1 - beta;
b. alpha = beta - 1;
c. beta = beta - 1;
alpha = beta;
d. alpha = beta;
beta = beta - 1;
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 70-71

16. Suppose that alpha and beta are int variables. The statement alpha = beta--; is equivalent
to the statement(s) ____.
a. alpha = 1 - beta;
b. alpha = beta - 1;
c. beta = beta - 1;
alpha = beta;
d. alpha = beta;
beta = beta - 1;
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 70-71
17. Suppose that alpha and beta are int variables. The statement alpha = beta++; is equivalent
to the statement(s) ____.
a. alpha = 1 + beta;
b. alpha = alpha + beta;
c. alpha = beta;
beta = beta + 1;
d. beta = beta + 1;
alpha = beta;
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 70-71

18. Suppose that alpha and beta are int variables. The statement alpha = ++beta; is equivalent
to the statement(s) ____.
a. beta = beta + 1;
alpha = beta;
b. alpha = beta;
beta = beta + 1;
c. alpha = alpha + beta;
d. alpha = beta + 1;
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 70-71

19. Choose the output of the following C++ statement:

cout << "Sunny " << '\n' << "Day " << endl;
a. Sunny \nDay
b. Sunny \nDay endl
c. Sunny
Day
d. Sunny \n
Day
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 73

20. Which of the following is the newline character?

a. \r c. \l
b. \n d. \b
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 73

21. Consider the following code.

// Insertion Point 1

using namespace std;

const float PI = 3.14;

int main()
{
//Insertion Point 2

float r = 2.0;
float area;
area = PI * r * r;

cout << "Area = " << area <<endl;

 return 0;
}
// Insertion Point 3

In this code, where does the include statement belong?

a. Insertion Point 1 c. Insertion Point 3
b. Insertion Point 2 d. Anywhere in the program
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 80

22. ____ are executable statements that inform the user what to do.
a. Variables c. Named constants
b. Prompt lines d. Expressions
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 91

23. The declaration int a, b, c; is equivalent to which of the following?

a. inta , b, c; c. int abc;
b. int a,b,c; d. int a b c;
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 92

24. Suppose that alpha and beta are int variables and alpha = 5 and beta = 10. After
the statement alpha *= beta; executes, ____.
a. alpha = 5 c. alpha = 50
b. alpha = 10 d. alpha = 50.0
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 94

25. Suppose that sum and num are int variables and sum = 5 and num = 10. After the
statement sum += num executes, ____.
a. sum = 0 c. sum = 10
b. sum = 5 d. sum = 15
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 95

COMPLETION

1. ____________________ is the process of planning and creating a program.

ANS:
Programming
programming

PTS: 1 REF: 28

2. A(n) ____________________ is a memory location whose contents can be changed.

ANS: variable

PTS: 1 REF: 33

3. A(n) ____________________ is a collection of statements, and when it is activated, or executed, it

accomplishes something.
 ANS:
subprogram
sub program
sub-program
function
modlue

PTS: 1 REF: 34

4. ____________________ functions are those that have already been written and are provided as part of
the system.

ANS:
Predefined
predefined
Standard
standard

PTS: 1 REF: 34

5. ____________________ rules determine the meaning of instructions.

ANS:
Semantic
semantic

PTS: 1 REF: 34

6. ____________________ can be used to identify the authors of the program, give the date when the
program is written or modified, give a brief explanation of the program, and explain the meaning of
key statements in a program.

ANS:
Comments
comments

PTS: 1 REF: 34

7. The smallest individual unit of a program written in any language is called a(n)
____________________.

ANS: token

PTS: 1 REF: 35

8. In a C++ program, ____________________ are used to separate special symbols, reserved words, and
identifiers.

ANS:
whitespaces
whitespace
white spaces
white space
 PTS: 1 REF: 37

9. The ____________________ type is C++ ’s method for allowing programmers to create their own
simple data types.

ANS: enumeration

PTS: 1 REF: 38

10. The memory space for a(n) ____________________ data value is 64 bytes.

ANS: long long

PTS: 1 REF: 39

11. The maximum number of significant digits is called the ____________________.

ANS: precision

PTS: 1 REF: 42

12. When a value of one data type is automatically changed to another data type, a(n)
____________________ type coercion is said to have occurred.

ANS: implicit

PTS: 1 REF: 51

13. A(n) ____________________ is a sequence of zero or more characters.

ANS: string

PTS: 1 REF: 53

14. In C++, you can use a(n) ____________________ to instruct a program to mark those memory
locations in which data is fixed throughout program execution.

ANS:
named constant
constant

PTS: 1 REF: 55

15. A data type is called ____________________ if the variable or named constant of that type can store
only one value at a time.

ANS: simple

PTS: 1 REF: 57
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
talked loudly of it, and so it comes that we see the times through
their eyes, and not through those of the silent and the blind.
In the south Dangeau made speech after speech. He wrote to
Danton from Lyons:
"This place smoulders. Words are apt to prove oil on the embers.
There are 900 prisoners, and constant talk of massacre. Chalier is a
firebrand, the Mayor one of those moderate persons who provoke
immoderate irritation in others. We are doing our best."

Danton frowned heavily over the curt sentences, drawing those

black brows of his into a wrathful line. He turned to other letters
from other Deputies, all telling the same weary tale of jangle and
discord, strife and clamour of parties unappeased and unappeasable.
Soon he would be at death-grips with the Gironde—force opposed to
philosophy, action to eloquence, and philosophic eloquence would go
to the guillotine shouting the Marseillaise.
His feet were set upon a bloody path, and one from which there
was no returning. All Fate's force was in him and behind him, and he
drove before it to his doom.

CHAPTER XIV
A DANGEROUS ACQUAINTANCE

It was in April that Fate began to concern herself with Mlle de

Rochambeau once more. It was a day of spring's first exquisite
sweetness—air like new-born life sparkling with wayward smiles, as
the hurrying sunbeams glanced between one white cloud and the
next; scent of all budding blossoms, and that good smell of young
leafage and the wet, fecund earth.
 On such a day, any heart, not crushed quite dumb and dry,
must needs sparkle a little too, tremble a little with the renewal of
youth, and sing a little because earth's myriad voices call for an
echo.
Aline put on her worn print gown with a smile, and twisted her
hair with a little more care than usual. After all, she was young, time
passed, and life held sunshine, and the spring. She sang a little
country air as she passed to and fro in the narrow room.
Outside it was delicious. Even in the dull street where she took
her place in the queue the air smelled of young flowering things, and
touched her cheeks with a soft, kissing breath, that brought the
tender colour into them. Under the bright cerulean sky her eyes took
the shade of dark forget-me-nots.
It was thus that Hébert saw her for the first time—one of Fate's
tricks—for had he passed on a dull, rainy, day, he would have seen
nothing but a pale, weary girl, and would have gone his way
unnoticing, and unremembered, but to-day that spring bloom in the
girl's heart seemed to have overflowed, and to sweeten all the air
around her. The sparkle of the deep, sweet, Irish eyes met his cold,
roving glance, and of a sudden changed it to an ugly, intent glitter.
He passed slowly by, then paused, turned, and passed again.
When he went by for the second time, Aline became aware of
his presence. Before, he had been one of the crowd, and she an
unnoticed unit in it, but now, all at once, his glance seemed to
isolate her from the women about her, and to set her in an insulting
proximity to himself.
She looked down, coldly, and pressed slowly forward. After what
seemed like a very long time, she raised her eyes for a moment,
only to encounter the same fixed, insolent stare, the same pale smile
of thick, unlovely lips.
With an inward shudder she turned her head, feeling thankful
that the queue was moving at a good rate, and that the time of
waiting was nearly over. It was not until she had secured her portion
that she ventured to look round again, and, to her infinite relief, the
coast was clear. With a sigh of thankfulness she turned homewards,
plunging her thoughts for cleansing into the fresh loveliness of the
day.
Suddenly in her ear a smooth, hateful voice:
"Why do you hurry so, Citoyenne?"
She did not look up, but quickened her pace.
"But, Citoyenne, a word—a look?"
Hébert's smile broadened, and he slipped a dexterous arm
about the slim waist, and bent to catch the blue glance of her eyes.
Experience taught him that she would look up at that. She did, with
a flame of contempt that he thought very becoming. Blue eyes were
apt to prove insipid when raised, but the critic in him acknowledged
these as free from fault.
"Citizen!" she exclaimed, freeing herself with an unexpectedly
strong movement. "How dare you! Oh, help me, Louison, help me!"
In the moment that he caught her again she had seen the
small, wiry figure of Jean Michel's wife turn the corner.
"Louison, Louison Michel!" she called desperately.
Next moment Hébert was aware of some one, under-sized and
shrivelled looking, who whirled tempestuously upon him, with an
amazing flow of words.
 "Oh, my Ste. Géneviève! And is a young girl not to walk
unmolested to her home. Bandit! assassin! tyrant! pig! devil! species
of animal, go then—but on the instant—and take that, and that, to
remember an honest woman by,"—the first "that" being a piece of
his hair torn forcibly out, and thrown into his perspiring face, and the
second, a most superlative slap on the opposite cheek.
He was left gasping for breath and choking with fury, whilst the
whirlwind departed with as much suddenness as it had come,
covering the girl's retreat with shaken fist, and shrill vituperation.
After a moment he sent a volley of curses in her wake. "Fury!
Magaera!" he muttered. "So that is Jean Michel's wife! If she were
mine, I 'd wring her neck."
He thought of his meek wife at home, and laughed
unpleasantly.
"For the rest, she has done the girl no good by interfering." This
was unfortunately the case. Hébert's eye had been pleased, his
fancy taken; but a few passing words, a struggle may be, ending in
a kiss, had been all that was in his thought. Now the bully in him
lifted its head, urging his jaded appetite, and he walked slowly after
the women until he saw Mademoiselle leave her companion, and
enter Rosalie's shop. An ugly gleam came into his eyes—so this was
where she lived! He knew Rosalie Leboeuf by sight and name; knew,
too, of her cousinship with his former mistress, Thérèse Marcel, and
he congratulated himself venomously as he strolled forward and
read the list of occupants which, as the law demanded, was fixed on
the front of the house at a distance of not more than five feet from
the ground:
"Rosalie Leboeuf, widow, vegetable seller, aged forty-six. Marie
Roche, single, seamstress, aged nineteen. Jacques Dangeau, single,
avocat, aged twenty-eight,"—and after the last name an additional
notice—"absent on business of the Convention."

Hébert struck his coarse hands together with an oath. Dangeau—

Dangeau, now it came back to him. Dangeau was infatuated with
some girl, Thérèse had said so. He laughed softly, for Thérèse had
gone into one of her passions, and that always amused him. If it
were this girl? If it were—if it only were, why, what a pleasure to cut
Dangeau out, and to let him find on his return that the bird had
flown to a nest of Hébert's feathering.
There might be even more in it than that. The girl was no
common seamstress; pooh—he was not stupid—he could see as far
into a brick wall as others. Even at the first glance he had seen that
she was different, and when her eyes blazed, and she drew herself
from his grasp, why, the aristocrat stood confessed. Anger is the
greatest revealer of all.
Madame la Roturière may dress her smiling face in the mode of
Mme l'Aristocrate; may tune her company voice to the same rhythm;
but put her in a passion, and see how the mud comes boiling up
from the depths, and how the voice so smooth and suave just now,
rings out in its native bourgeois tones.
Hébert knew the difference as well as another, and his thoughts
were busy. Aristocrat disguised, spelled aristocrat conspiring, and a
conspiring aristocrat under the same roof as Jacques Dangeau, what
did that spell?
 He rubbed his pale fat hands, where the reddish hair showed
sickly, and strolled away thinking wicked thoughts. Plots were the
obsession of the day, and, to speak the truth, there were enough
and to spare, but patriot eyes were apt to see double, and treble,
when drunk with enthusiasm, and to detect a conspirator when
there was only a victim. Plots which had never existed gave
hundreds to the knife, and the populace shouted themselves into a
wilder delirium.
Did the price of bread go up? Machinations of Pitt in England.
Did two men quarrel, and blows pass? "Monarchist!" shouted the
defeated one, and presently denounced the other.
Had a woman an inconvenient husband, why, a cry of "Austrian
Spy!" and she might be comfortably rid of him for ever.
Evil times for a beautiful, friendless girl upon whom gross
Hébert cast a wishful eye!
He walked into the shop next day, and accosted Rosalie with
Republican sternness of manner.
"Good-day, Citoyenne Leboeuf."
Rosalie was fluttered. Her nerves were no longer quite so
reliable as they had been. Madame Guillotine's receptions were
disturbing them, and in the night she would dream horribly, and
wake panting, with her hands at her fat throat.
"Citizen Hébert," she murmured.
He bent a cold eye upon her, noting a beaded brow.
"You have a girl lodging here—Marie Roche?"
"Assuredly, Citizen."
"I must speak to her alone."
 Rosalie rallied a little, for Hébert had a certain reputation, and
Louison had not held her tongue.
"I will call her down," she said, heaving her bulky form from its
place.
"No, I will go up," said Hébert, still with magisterial dignity.
"Pardon me, Citizen Deputy, she shall come down."
"It is an affair of State. I must speak privately with her," he
blustered.
Rosalie's eyes twinkled; her nerves were steadying. They had
begun to require constant stimulation, and this answered as well as
anything else.
"Bah," she said. "I shall not listen to your State secrets. Am I an
eavesdropper, or inquisitive? Ask any one. That is not my character.
You may take her to the farther end of the shop, and speak as low
as you please, but, she is a young girl, this is a respectable house,
and see her alone in her room you shall not, not whilst she is under
my care."
"That privilege being reserved for my colleague, Citizen
Dangeau," sneered Hébert.
"Tchtt," said Rosalie, humping a billowy shoulder—"the girl is
virtuous and hard-working, too virtuous, I dare say, to please some
people. Yes, that I can very well believe," and her gaze became
unpleasantly pointed—"Well, I will call her down."
She moved to the inner door as she spoke, and called up the
stair: "Marie! Marie Roche! Descend then; you are wanted."
Hébert stood aside with an ill grace, but he was quite well
aware that to insist might, after yesterday's scene, bring the whole
quarter about his ears, and effectually spoil the ingenious plans he
was revolving in his mind.
He moved impatiently as Mademoiselle delayed, and, at the
sound of her footstep, started eagerly to meet her.
She came in quite unsuspiciously, looking at Rosalie, and at first
seeing no one else. When Hébert's movements brought him before
her, she turned deadly white, and a faintness swept over her. She
caught the door, fighting it back, till it showed only in that change of
colour, and a rather fixed look in the dark blue eyes.
Hébert checked a smile, and entrenched himself behind his
office.
"You are Marie Roche, seamstress?"
"Certainly, Citizen."
"Father's and mother's names?"
"By what right do you question me?" the voice was icy with
offence, and Rosalie stirred uneasily.
"It is the Citizen Deputy Hébert; answer him," she growled—and
Hébert commended her with a look.
Really this was amusing—the girl had spirit as well as beauty.
Decidedly she was worth pursuing.
"Father's and mother's names?" he repeated.
Mademoiselle bit her lip, and gave the names she had already
given when she took out her certificate of Citizenship.
They were those of her foster-parents, and had she not had
that rehearsal, she might have faltered, and hesitated. As it was, her
answer came clear and prompt.
Hébert scowled.
 "You are not telling the truth," he observed in offensive tones,
expecting an outburst, but Mlle de Rochambeau merely looked past
him with an air of weary indifference.
"I am not satisfied," he burst out. "If you had been frank and
open, you would have found me a good friend, but I do not like lies,
and you are telling them. Now I am not a safe person to tell lies to,
not at all—remember that. My friendship is worth having, and you
may choose between it and my enmity, my virtuous Citoyenne."
Mademoiselle raised her delicate eyebrows very slightly.
"The Citizen does me altogether too much honour," she
observed, her voice in direct contradiction to her words.
"Tiens," he said, losing self-control, "you are a proud minx, and
pride goes before a fall. Are you not afraid? Come," dropping his
voice, as he caught Rosalie's ironical eye—"Come, be a sensible girl,
and you shall not find me hard to deal with. I am a slave to beauty—
a smile, a pleasant look or two, and I am your friend. Come then,
Citoyenne Marie."
Mademoiselle remained silent. She looked past Hébert, at the
street. Rosalie got up exasperated, and pulled her aside.
"Little fool," she whispered, "can't you make yourself agreeable,
like any other girl. Smile, and keep him off. No one wants you to do
more. The man 's dangerous, I tell you so, I—— You 'll ruin us all
with your airs and graces, as if he were the mud under your feet."
Aline turned from her in a sudden despair.
"I am a poor, honest girl, Citizen," she said imploringly. "I have
no time for friendship. I have to work very hard, I harm nobody."
"But a friend," suggested Hébert, coming a little closer, "a friend
would feel it a privilege to do away with that necessity for hard
work."
Mademoiselle's pallor flamed. She turned sharply away, feeling
as if she had been struck.
"Good-day, Citizen," she said proudly; "you have made a
mistake," and she passed from Rosalie's detaining hand.
Hébert sent an oath after her. He was most unmagisterially
angry. "Fool," he said, under his breath—"Damned fool."
Rosalie caught him up.
"He is a fool who wastes his time trying to pick the apple at the
top of the tree, when there are plenty to his hand," she observed
pointedly.
He swore at her then, and went out without replying.
From that day a period of terror and humiliation beyond words
set in for Mlle de Rochambeau. Hebert's shadow lay across her path,
and she feared him, with a sickening, daily augmenting fear, that
woke her gasping in the night, and lay on her like a black nightmare
by day.
Sometimes she did not see him for days, sometimes every day
brought him along the waiting queue, until he reached her side, and
stood there whispering hatefully, amusing himself by alternately
calling the indignant colour to her cheeks, and replacing it by a yet
more indignant pallor.
The strain told on her visibly, the thin cheeks were thinner, the
dark eyes looked darker, and showed unnaturally large and bright,
whilst the violet stains beneath them came to stay.
There was no one to whom she could appeal. Rosalie was
furious with her and her fine-lady ways. Louison, and the other
neighbours, who could have interfered to protect her from open
insult, saw no reason to meddle so long as the girl's admirer
confined himself to words, and after the first day Hébert had not laid
hands on her again.
The torture of the man's companionship, the insult of his look,
were beyond their comprehension.
Meanwhile, Hébert's passing fancy for her beauty had changed
into a dull, malignant resolve to bend, or break her, and through her
to injure Dangeau, if it could possibly be contrived.
Women had their price, he reflected. Hers might not be money,
but it would perhaps be peace of mind, relief from persecution, or
even life—bare life.
After the first few days he gave up the idea of bringing any set
accusation against Dangeau. The man was away, his room locked,
and Rosalie would certainly not give up the key unless a domiciliary
visit were paid—a thing involving a little too much publicity for
Hébert's taste. Besides, he knew very well that rummage as he
might, he would find no evidence of conspiracy. Dangeau was an
honest man, as he was very well aware, and he hated him a good
deal the more for the inconvenient fact. No, it would not do to
denounce Dangeau without some very plain evidence to go upon.
The accuser of Danton's friend might find himself in an uncommonly
tight place if his accusations could not be proved. It would not do—it
was not good enough, Hébert decided regretfully; but the girl
remained, and that way amusement beckoned as well as revenge. If
she remained obstinate, and if Dangeau were really infatuated, and
returned to find her in prison, he might easily be tempted to commit
some imprudence, out of which capital might be made. That was a
safer game, and might prove just as well worth playing in the end.
Meanwhile, was the girl Marie Roche, and nothing more? Did that
arresting look of nobility go for nothing, or was she playing a part? If
Rosalie knew, Thérèse might help. Now how fortunate that he had
always kept on good terms with Thérèse.
He took her a pair of gold ear-rings that evening, and whilst she
set them dangling in her ears, he slipped an arm about her, and
kissed her smooth red cheek.
"Morbleu!" he swore, "you 're a handsome creature, Thérèse;
there 's no one to touch you."
"What do you want?" asked Thérèse, with a shrewd glance into
his would-be amorous eyes.
"What, ma belle? What should I want? A kiss, if you 'll give it
me. Ah! the old days were the best."
Thus Hébert, disclaiming an ulterior motive.
Thérèse frowned, and twitched away from him.
"Ma foi, Hébert, am I a fool?" she returned, with a shrug. "You
've forgotten a lot about those same old days if you think that. I 'll
help you if I can, but don't try and throw sand in my eyes, or you 'll
get some of it back, in a way that will annoy you"; and her black
eyes flared at him in the fashion he always admired. He thought her
at her best like that, and said so now.
"Chut!" she said impatiently. "What is it that you want?"
Hébert considered.
"You see your cousin sometimes, the widow Leboeuf, who has
the shop in the rue des Lanternes?"
"I see her often enough, twice—three times a week at present."
"Could you get something out of her?"
 "Not if she knew I wanted to. Close as a miser's fist, that's what
Rosalie is, if she thinks she can spite you; but just now we are very
good friends—and, well, I dare say it might be done. Depends what
it is you want to know."
Hébert looked at her keenly.
"Perhaps you can tell me," he said, watching her face. "That girl
who lodges there, who is she? What is her name—her real name?"
In a flash Thérèse was crimson to the hair, and he had her by
the wrist, swinging her round to face him.
"Oho!" she cried, laughing till the new ear-rings tinkled, "so
that's it—that's the game? Well, if you can give that stuck-up
aristocrat the setting-down I 've promised her ever since I first saw
her, I 'm with you."
Hébert pounced on one word, like a cat.
"Aristocrat? Ah! I thought so," he said, his breathing quickening
a little. "Who is she, then, ma mie?"
Thérèse regarded him with a little scorn. She did not care who
got Hébert, since she had done with him herself, but what, par
exemple, did he see in a pale stick like that—and after having
admired her, Thérèse? Certainly men were past understanding.
She lolled easily on the arm of the chair.
"I 've not an idea, but I dare say I could find out—that is, if
Rosalie knows."
"Well, when you do, there 'll be a chain to match the ear-rings,"
said Hébert, his arm round her waist again.
All the same, April had passed into May before Thérèse won her
chain.
 It was in the time between that Hébert haunted Mlle de
Rochambeau's footsteps, and employed what he considered his most
seductive arts, producing only a sensation of shuddering defilement
from which neither prayer nor effort could free her thoughts. One
day, goaded past endurance, she left Dangeau's folded note at the
door of Cléry's lodging. When it had left her hand, she would have
given the world to have it back. How could she speak to a man of
this shameful pursuit of Hébert? How, having put Dangeau out of
her life, could she use his help, and appeal to his friend? And yet,
how endure the daily shame, the nightly agony of remembering
those smooth, poisonous whispers, that pale, dreadful smile? She
cried her eyes red and swollen, and Edmond Cléry, looking up from a
bantering exchange of compliments with Rosalie, wondered as she
came in, first if this could be she, and then at his friend's taste. He
permitted himself a complacent memory of Thérèse's glowing cheeks
and supple curves, and commended his own choice. Rosalie's
needles clicked amiably. She liked young men, and this was a
personable one. What a goose this girl was, to be sure!—like a
frightened rabbit with Hébert, and now with this amiable young
man, shrinking, white-faced! Bah! she had no patience with her.
Edmond bowed smilingly.
"My homage, Citoyenne," he said.
Aline forced a "Bonjour, Citizen," and then fell silent again. Ah!
why had she left the note—why, why, why?
Cléry began to pity her plight, for there was something
chivalrous in him which rose at the sight of her obvious unhappiness,
and he gave the impulse rein.
 "Will you not tell me how I can serve you?" he said in his
gentlest voice. "It will be both a pleasure and an honour."
Aline raised her tired eyes to his, and read kindness in the open
glance.
"You are very good," she said slowly, and looked past him with a
hesitating air.
Rosalie was busy serving at the moment, and a shrill argument
over the price of cabbage was in process. She stepped closer, and
spoke very low.
"Citizen Dangeau said I might trust you, Citizen."
"Indeed you may; I am his friend and yours."
Even then the colour rose a little at this linking of their names.
The impulse towards confidence increased.
"I am in trouble, Citizen, or I should not have asked your help.
There is a man who follows, insults me, threatens even, and I am
without a protector."
"Not if you will confide that honour to me," said Cléry quickly.
She smiled faintly.
"You are very good."
"But who is it? Tell me his name, and I will see that you are not
molested in future."
"It is the Citizen Deputy Hébert," faltered Aline, all her terror
returning as she pronounced the hateful name.
Clary's brows drew close, and a long whistle escaped his lips.
"Oho, Hébert," he said,—"Hébert; but there, Citoyenne, do not
be alarmed, I beg of you. Leave it to me"; after which he made his
adieux without conspicuous haste, leaving Rosalie much annoyed at
having missed most of the conversation.
 Two days later, Hébert came foaming in on Thérèse. When he
could speak, he swore at her.
"See here, Thérèse, if you 've a hand in setting Cléry at me, let
me warn you. I 'll take foul play from no woman alive, without giving
as good as I get, and if there 's any of your damned jealousy at
work, you she-devil, I 'll choke you as soon as look at you, and with
a great deal more pleasure!"
Thérèse stepped up to him and fixed her great black eyes on his
pale, twitching ones.
"Don't be so silly, Hébert," she said steadily, though her colour
rose. "What is it all about? What has young Cléry done to you? It 's
rather late in the day for you to start quarrelling."
"Did you flatter yourself it was about you?" said Hébert brutally.
"Not much, my girl; I've fresher fish to fry. But he came up to me an
hour ago, and informed me he had been looking for me everywhere
to tell me my pursuit of that pattern of virtue, our good Dangeau's
mistress, must cease, or I 'd have him to reckon with, and what I
want to know is, have you a hand in this, or not?"
Thérèse was heavily flushed, and her eyes curiously veiled.
"What! Cléry too?" she said in a deep whisper. "Dangeau, and
you, and Cléry. Eh! I wish her joy of my cast-off clouts. But she shall
pay—Holy Virgin, she shall pay!"
Hébert caught her by the shoulder and shook it.
"What are you muttering? I ask you a plain question, and you
don't answer it. What about Cléry—did you set him on?"
She threw back her head at that, and gave a long, wild laugh.
"Imbécile!" she screamed. "I? Do you hate him? Well, think how
I must love him when he too goes after this girl—goes to her from
me, from swearing I am his goddess, his inspiration? Ah!"—she
caught at her throat,—"but at least I can give you his head. The fool
—the fool to betray a woman who holds his life in her hands! Here is
what the imbecile wrote me only a week ago. Read, and say if it 's
not enough to give him to the embraces of the Guillotine?"
The paper she thrust at Hébert came from her bosom, and
when he had read it his dull eyes glittered.
"'The King's death a crime—perhaps time not ripe for a
Republic.' Thérèse, you 're worth your weight in gold. I don't think
Edmond Cléry will write you any more love-letters."
Thérèse drew gloomily away.
"And the girl?" she asked, with a shiver.
"That, my dear, was to depend on what you could find out
about her," Hébert reminded her.
His own fury had subsided, and he threw himself into a chair.
Thérèse made an abrupt movement.
"There is nothing more to find out. I have it all."
"You 've been long enough getting it," said Hébert, sitting up.
"Well, I have it now, and I told you all along that Rosalie was
more obstinate than a mule. She has been in one of her silent
moods; she would go to all the executions, and then, instead of
being a pleasant companion, there she would sit quite mum, or
muttering to herself. Yesterday, however, she seemed excited. There
was a large batch told off, three women amongst them, and one of
them shrieked when Sanson took her kerchief off. That seemed to
wake Rosalie up. She got quite red, and began to talk as if she had a
fever."
 "It is one you have caught from her, then," said Hébert
impatiently. "The news, my girl, the news! What do I care for your
cousin and her tantrums?"
Thérèse looked dangerous.
"Am I your cat's-paw, Hébert?" she said. "Pah! do your own
dirty work—you 'll get no more from me."
Hébert cursed his impatience—fool that he was not to
remember Thérèse's temper!
He forced an ugly smile.
"Oh, well, as you please," he said. "Let the girl go. There are
other fish in the sea. Best let Cléry go too, and then they can make
a match of it, unless she should prefer Dangeau."
His intent eyes saw the girl's face change at that. "A thousand
devils!" she burst out. "Why do you plague me, Hébert? Be civil and
play fair, and you 'll get what you want."
"Come, come, Thérèse," he said soothingly. "We both want the
same thing—to teach a stuck-up baggage of an aristocrat a lesson.
Let's be friends again, and give me the news. Is it any good?"
"Good enough," said Thérèse, with a sulky look,—"good enough
to take her out of my way, if I say the word. Why, she 's a cousin of
the ci-devant Montargis, who got so prettily served on the third of
September."
"What?" exclaimed Hébert.
"Ah! you never guessed that, and you 'd never have got it out of
Rosalie; for she 's as close as the devil, and I believe has a sneaking
fondness for the girl."
"The Montargis!" repeated Hébert, rubbing his hands, slowly.
This was better than he expected. No wonder the girl went in terror!
He had heard the Paris mob howl for the blood of the Austrian spy,
and he knew that a word now would seal her fate.
"Her name?" he demanded.
"Rochambeau—Aline de Rochambeau. She only clipped the tail
off, you see, and with a taste that way, she should have no objection
to a head clipping—eh, my friend?" said Thérèse, with a short laugh.
Hébert went off with his plans made ready to his hand. It
pleased him to be able to ruin Cléry, since Cléry had crossed his
path; and besides, it would terrify the girl, and annoy Dangeau, who
had a liking for the boy. It was inconceivable that he should have
been so imprudent as to trust a woman like Thérèse, but since he
had been such a fool he must just pay for it with his head.
The truth was that Cléry during his service at the Temple had
been strangely impressed, like many another, by the bearing of the
unfortunate Royal Family, and had conceived a young, whole-
hearted adoration for the Queen, which did not, unfortunately for
himself, interfere with his wholly mundane passion for Thérèse
Marcel. In a moment of extraordinary imprudence he made the latter
his confidante, never doubting that her love for himself would make
her a perfectly safe one. Poor lad! he was to pay a heavy price for
his trust.
On the day following Hébert's interview with Thérèse he was
arrested, and after a short preliminary examination, which revealed
to him her treachery and his dangerous position, he was lodged in
the Abbaye.
His arrest made some little stir in his own small world. Thérèse
herself brought the news of it to the rue des Lanternes. Her eyes
were very bright and hard as she glanced round the shop, and she
laughed louder than usual, as she threw out broad hints as to her
own share in the matter, for she liked Rosalie to know her power.
"I think you are a devil, Thérèse," said the fat woman gloomily.
"So others have said," returned Thérèse, with a wicked smile.
Mlle de Rochambeau took the blow in deadly silence. Hope was
dead in her heart, and she prayed earnestly that she alone might
suffer, and not have the wretchedness of feeling she had drawn
another into the net which was closing around her.
Hébert dallied yet a day or two, and then struck home. Aline
was hurrying homewards, her ears strained for the step she had
grown to expect, when all in a minute he was there by her side.
She turned on him with a sudden resolve.
"Citizen," she said earnestly, "why do you persecute me? What
have I done to you—to any one? Surely by now you realise that this
pursuit is useless?"
"The day that I realise that will be a bad day for you," said
Hébert, with malignant emphasis.
The threat brought her head up, with one of those movements
of mingled pride and grace which made him hate and covet her.
"I have done no wrong—what harm can you do me?" she said
steadily.
"I have interest with the Revolutionary Tribunal—you may have
heard of the arrest of our young friend Cléry? Ah! I thought so,"—as
her colour faded under his cruel gaze.
She shrank a little, but forced her voice to composure. "And
does the Revolutionary Tribunal concern itself with the affairs of a
poor girl who only asks to be allowed to earn her living honestly?"
 Hébert smiled—a smile so wicked that she realised an
impending blow, and on the instant it fell.
"It would concern itself with the affairs of Mlle de Rochambeau,
cousin of the ci-devant Marquise de Montargis, who, if my memory
serves me right, was arrested on a charge of treasonable
correspondence with Austria, and who met a well-deserved fate at
the hands of an indignant people." He leaned closer as he spoke,
and marked the instant stiffening of each muscle in the white face.
For a moment her heart had stopped. Then it raced on again at
a deadly speed. She turned her head away that he might not see the
terror in her eyes, and a keen wind met her full, clearing the
faintness from her brain.
She walked on as steadily as she might, but the smooth voice
was still at her ear.
"You are in danger. My friendship alone can save you. What do
you hope for? The return of your lover Dangeau? I don't think I
should count on that if I were you, my angel. Once upon a time
there was a young man of the name of Cléry—Edmond Cléry to be
quite correct—yes, I see you know the story. No, I don't think your
Dangeau will be of any assistance to you when I denounce you, and
denounce you I most certainly shall, unless you ask me not to,
prettily, with your arms round my neck, shall we say—eh, Citoyenne
Marie?"
As he spoke there was a rumble of wheels, and a rough cart
came round the corner towards them. He touched her arm, and she
looked up mechanically, to see that it held from eight to ten persons,
all pinioned, and through her own dull misery she was aware of pity
stirring at her heart, for these were prisoners on their way to the
Place de la Revolution.
One was an old man, very white and thin, his scanty hair
straggling above a stained, uncared-for coat, his misty blue eyes
looking out at the world with the unseeing stare of the blind or
dying. Beside him leaned a youth of about fifteen, whose laboured
breath spoke of the effort by which he preserved an appearance of
calm. Beyond them was a woman, very handsome and upright. Her
hair, just cut, floated in short, ragged wisps about her pale, set face.
Her lips moved constantly, her eyes looked down. Hébert laughed
and pointed as the cart went by.
"That is where you 'll be if I give the word," he whispered.
"Choose, then—a place there, or a place here,"—and he made as if
to encircle her with his arm,—"choose, ma mie."
Aline closed her eyes. All her young life ran hotly in her veins,
but the force of its recoil from the man beside her was stronger than
the force of its recoil from death.
"The Citizen insults me when he assumes there is a choice," she
said, with cold lips.
"The prison is so attractive then? The embraces of the Guillotine
so preferable to mine—hein?"
"The Citizen has expressed my views."
Hébert cursed and flung away, but as she moved on he was by
her side again.
"After all," he said, "you may change your mind again. Until to-
morrow, I can save you."
"Citizen, I shall never change my mind. There is no choice; it is
simply that."
 An inexorable decision looked from her face, and carried
conviction even to him.
"One cannot save imbeciles," he muttered as he left her.
Mademoiselle walked home with an odd sense of relief. Now
that the first shock was over, and the danger so long anticipated was
actually upon her, she was calm. At least Hébert would be gone from
her life. Death was clean and final; there would be no dishonour, no
soiling of her ears by that sensual voice, nor of her eyes by those
evil glances.
She knelt and prayed for a while, and sat down to her work with
hands that moved as skilfully as before.
That night she slept more peacefully than she had done for
weeks. In her dreams she walked along a green and leafy lane, birds
sang, and the sky burned blue in the rising sun. She walked, and
breathed blissful air, and was happy.
Out of such dreams one awakes with a sense of the unreality of
everyday life. Some of the glamour clings about us, and we see a
mirage of happiness instead of the sands of the Desert of
Desolation. Is it only mirage, or some sense sealed, except at rarest
intervals?—a sense before whose awakened exercise the veil wears
thin, and from behind we catch the voices of the withdrawn, we feel
the presence of peace, and garner a little of the light of Eternity to
shed a glow on Time.
Aline woke happily to a soft May dawn. Her dream lay warm
against her heart and cherished it.
In the evening she was arrested and taken to the prison of the
Abbaye.
 CHAPTER XV
SANS SOUCI

In after days Aline de Rochambeau looked back upon her time in

prison as a not unpeaceful interlude between two periods of stress
and terror. After loneliness unspeakable, broken only by
companionship with the coarse, the dull, the cruel, she found herself
in the politest society of France, and in daily, hourly contact with all
that was graceful, exquisite, and refined in her own sex,—gallant,
witty, and courteous in the other.
When she joined the other prisoners on the morning after her
arrest, the scene surprised her by its resemblance to that ill-fated
reception which had witnessed at once her debut and her farewell to
society. The dresses were a good deal shabbier, the ladies' coiffures
not quite so well arranged, but there was the same gay, light talk,
the same bowing and curtsying, the same air of high-bred
indifference to all that did not concern the polite arts.
All at once she became very acutely conscious of her bourgeoise
dress and unpowdered hair. She felt the roughness of her pricked
fingers, and experienced that painful sense of inferiority which
sometimes afflicts young girls who are unaccustomed to the world.
The sensation passed in a flash, but the memory of it stung her not
a little, and she crossed the room with her head held high.
The old Comtesse de Matigny eyed her through a tortoise-shell
lorgnette which bore a Queen's cipher in brilliants, and had been a
gift from Marie Antoinette.
"Who is that?" she demanded, in her deep, imperious tones.
 "Some little bourgeoise, accused of Heaven knows what,"
shrugged M. de Lancy.
The old lady allowed hazel eyes which were still piercing to rest
for a moment longer on Aline. Then they flashed mockingly on M. le
Marquis.
"My friend, you are not as intelligent as usual. Did you see the
girl's colour change when she came in? When a bourgeoise is
embarrassed, she hangs her head and walks awkwardly. If she had
an apron on, she would bite the corner. This girl looked round, and
flushed,—it showed the fine grain of her skin,—then up went her
head, and she walked like a princess. Besides, I know the face."
A slight, fair woman, with tired eyes which looked as if the
colour had been washed from them by much weeping, leaned
forward. She was Mme de Créspigny, and her husband had been
guillotined a fortnight before.
"I have seen her too, Madame," she said in an uninterested sort
of way, "but I cannot recall where it was."
Mme la Comtesse rapped her knee impatiently with a much-
beringed hand.
"It is some one she reminds me of," she said at last—"some one
long ago, when I was younger. I never forget a face, I always prided
myself on that. It was at Court—long ago—those were gay days, my
friends. Ah! I have it. La belle Irlandaise, Mlle Desmond, who
married— Now, who did Mlle Desmond marry? It is I who am stupid
to-day. It is the cold, I think."
"Was it Henri de Rochambeau?" said De Lancy.
She nodded vivaciously.
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