CHAPTER III
THE FOWLERS
I
In order to reach the Carrefour de la Poissonnerie the two men had toskirt the whole edifice of Le Bouffay, walk a little along the quay andturn up the narrow alley opposite the bridge. They walked on in silence,each absorbed in his own thoughts.
The house occupied by the citizeness Adet lay back a little from theothers in the street. It was one of an irregular row of mean, squalid,tumble-down houses, some of them little more than lean-to sheds builtinto the walls of Le Bouffay. Most of them had overhanging roofs whichstretched out like awnings more than half way across the road, and evenat midday shut out any little ray of sunshine which might have atendency to peep into the street below.
In this year II of the Republic the Carrefour de la Poissonnerie wasunpaved, dark and evil-smelling. For two thirds of the year it wasankle-deep in mud: the rest of the time the mud was baked into cakes andemitted clouds of sticky dust under the shuffling feet of thepassers-by. At night it was dimly lighted by one or two broken-downlanthorns which were hung on transverse chains overhead from house tohouse. These lanthorns only made a very small circle of lightimmediately below them: the rest of the street was left in darkness,save for the faint glimmer which filtrated through an occasionalill-fitting doorway or through the chinks of some insecurely fastenedshutter.
The Carrefour de la Poissonnerie was practically deserted in thedaytime; only a few children--miserable little atoms of humanity showingtheir meagre, emaciated bodies through the scanty rags which failed tocover their nakedness--played weird, mirthless games in the mud andfilth of the street. But at night it became strangely peopled with vagueand furtive forms that were wont to glide swiftly by, beneath thehanging lanthorns, in order to lose themselves again in the welcomeobscurity beyond: men and women--ill-clothed and unshod, with handsburied in pockets or beneath scanty shawls--their feet, oft-times bare,making no sound as they went squishing through the mud. A perpetualsilence used to reign in this kingdom of squalor and of darkness, wherenight-hawks alone fluttered their wings; only from time to time ajoyless greeting of boon-companions, or the hoarse cough of somewretched consumptive would wake the dormant echoes that lingered in thegloom.
II
Martin-Roget knew his way about the murky street well enough. He went upto the house which lay a little back from the others. It appeared evenmore squalid than the rest, not a sound came from within--hardly alight--only a narrow glimmer found its way through the chink of ashutter on the floor above. To right and left of it the houses weretall, with walls that reeked of damp and of filth: from one ofthese--the one on the left--an iron sign dangled and creaked dismally asit swung in the wind. Just above the sign there was a window withpartially closed shutters: through it came the sound of two husky voicesraised in heated argument.
In the open space in front of Louise Adet's house vague forms standingabout or lounging against the walls of the neighbouring houses werevaguely discernible in the gloom. Martin-Roget and Chauvelin as theyapproached were challenged by a raucous voice which came to them out ofthe inky blackness around.
"Halt! who goes there?"
"Friends!" replied Martin-Roget promptly. "Is citizeness Adet within?"
"Yes! she is!" retorted the man bluntly; "excuse me, friend Adet--I didnot know you in this confounded darkness."
"No harm done," said Martin-Roget. "And it is I who am grateful to youall for your vigilance."
"Oh!" said the other with a laugh, "there's not much fear of your birdgetting out of its cage. Have no fear, friend Adet! That Kernogan rabbleis well looked after."
The small group dispersed in the darkness and Martin-Roget rappedagainst the door of his sister's house with his knuckles.
"That is the Rat Mort," he said, indicating the building on his leftwith a nod of the head. "A very unpleasant neighbourhood for my sister,and she has oft complained of it--but name of a dog! won't it proveuseful this night?"
Chauvelin had as usual followed his colleague in silence, but his keeneyes had not failed to note the presence of the village lads of whomMartin-Roget had spoken. There are no eyes so watchful as those of hate,nor is there aught so incorruptible. Every one of these men here had anold wrong to avenge, an old score to settle with those ci-devantKernogans who had once been their masters and who were so completely intheir power now. Louise Adet had gathered round her a far moreefficient bodyguard than even the proconsul could hope to have.
A moment or two later the door was opened, softly and cautiously, andMartin-Roget asked: "Is that you, Louise?" for of a truth the darknesswas almost deeper within than without, and he could not see who it wasthat was standing by the door.
"Yes! it is," replied a weary and querulous voice. "Enter quickly. Thewind is cruel, and I can't keep myself warm. Who is with you, Pierre?"
"A friend," said Martin-Roget drily. "We want to see the aristo."
The woman without further comment closed the door behind the new-comers.The place now was as dark as pitch, but she seemed to know her way aboutlike a cat, for her shuffling footsteps were heard moving aboutunerringly. A moment or two later she opened another door opposite thefront entrance, revealing an inner room--a sort of kitchen--which waslighted by a small lamp.
"You can go straight up," she called curtly to the two men.
The narrow, winding staircase was divided from this kitchen by a woodenpartition. Martin-Roget, closely followed by Chauvelin, went up thestairs. On the top of these there was a tiny landing with a door oneither side of it. Martin-Roget without any ceremony pushed open thedoor on his right with his foot.
A tallow candle fixed in a bottle and placed in the centre of a table inthe middle of the room flickered in the draught as the door flew open.It was bare of everything save a table and a chair, and a bundle ofstraw in one corner. The tiny window at right angles to the door wasinnocent of glass, and the north-westerly wind came in an icy streamthrough the aperture. On the table, in addition to the candle, there wasa broken pitcher half-filled with water, and a small chunk of brownbread blotched with stains of mould.
On the chair beside the table and immediately facing the door sat YvonneLady Dewhurst. On the wall above her head a hand unused to calligraphyhad traced in clumsy characters the words: "Liberte! Fraternite!Egalite!" and below that "ou la Mort."
III
The men entered the narrow room and Chauvelin carefully closed the doorbehind him. He at once withdrew into a remote comer of the room andstood there quite still, wrapped in his mantle, a small, silent,mysterious figure on which Yvonne fixed dark, inquiring eyes.
Martin-Roget, restless and excited, paced up and down the small spacelike a wild animal in a cage. From time to time exclamations ofimpatience escaped him and he struck one fist repeatedly against hisopen palm. Yvonne followed his movements with a quiet, uninterestedglance, but Chauvelin paid no heed whatever to him.
He was watching Yvonne ceaselessly, and closely.
Three days' incarceration in this wind-swept attic, the lack of decentfood and of warmth, the want of sleep and the horror of her presentposition all following upon the soul-agony which she had endured whenshe was forcibly torn away from her dear milor, had left their mark onYvonne Dewhurst's fresh young face. The look of gravity which had alwayssat so quaintly on her piquant features had now changed to one of deepand abiding sorrow; her large dark eyes were circled and sunk; they hadin them the unnatural glow of fever, as well as the settled look ofhorror and of pathetic resignation. Her soft brown hair had lost itslustre; her cheeks were drawn and absolutely colourless.
Martin-Roget paused in his restless walk. For a moment he stood silentand absorbed, contemplating by the flickering light of the candle allthe havoc which his brutality had wrought upon Yvonne's dainty face.
But Yvonne after a while ceased to look at him--she appeared to beunconscious of the gaze of these two men, each of whom was at thismoment only thinking of the evil which he meant to inflict uponher--each of whom only thought of her a
s a helpless bird whom he had atlast ensnared and whom he could crush to death as soon as he felt soinclined.
She kept her lips tightly closed and her head averted. She was gazingacross at the unglazed window into the obscurity beyond, marvelling inwhat direction lay the sea and the shores of England.
Martin-Roget crossed his arms over his broad chest and clutched hiselbows with his hands with an obvious effort to keep control over hismovements and his temper in check. The quiet, almost indifferentattitude of the girl was exasperating to his over-strung nerves.
"Look here, my girl," he said at last, roughly and peremptorily, "I hadan interview with the proconsul this afternoon. He chides me for myleniency toward you. Three days he thinks is far too long to keeptraitors eating the bread of honest citizens and taking up valuablespace in our city. Yesterday I made a proposal to you. Have you thoughton it?"
Yvonne made no reply. She was still gazing out into nothingness and justat that moment she was very far away from the narrow, squalid room andthe company of these two inhuman brutes. She was thinking of her dearmilor and of that lovely home at Combwich wherein she had spent threesuch unforgettable days. She was remembering how beautiful had been thecolour of the bare twigs in the chestnut coppice when the wintry sundanced through and in between them and drew fantastic patterns of livinggold upon the carpet of dead leaves; and she remembered too howexquisite were the tints of russet and blue on the distant hills, andhow quaintly the thrushes had called: "Kiss me quick!" She saw againthose trembling leaves of a delicious faintly crimson hue which stillhung upon the branches of the scarlet oak, and the early flowering heathwhich clothed the moors with a gorgeous mantle of rosy amethyst.
Martin-Roget's harsh voice brought her abruptly back to the hideousreality of the moment.
"Your obstinacy will avail you nothing," he said, speaking quietly, eventhough a note of intense irritation was distinctly perceptible in hisvoice. "The proconsul has given me a further delay wherein to dealleniently with you and with your father if I am so minded. You know whatI have proposed to you: Life with me as my wife--in which case yourfather will be free to return to England or to go to the devil as hepleases--or the death of a malefactor for you both in the company of allthe thieves and evil-doers who are mouldering in the prisons of Nantesat this moment. Another delay wherein to choose between an honourablelife and a shameful death. The proconsul waits. But to-night he musthave his answer."
Then Yvonne turned her head slowly and looked calmly on her enemy.
"The tyrant who murders innocent men, women and children," she said,"can have his answer now. I choose death which is inevitable inpreference to a life of shame."
"You seem," he retorted, "to have lost sight of the fact that the lawgives me the right to take by force that which you so obstinatelyrefuse."
"Have I not said," she replied, "that death is my choice? Life with youwould be a life of shame."
"I can get a priest to marry us without your consent: and your religionforbids you to take your own life," he said with a sneer.
To this she made no reply, but he knew that he had his answer.Smothering a curse, he resumed after a while:
"So you prefer to drag your father to death with you? Yet he has beggedyou to consider your decision and to listen to reason. He has given hisconsent to our marriage."
"Let me see my father," she retorted firmly, "and hear him say that withhis own lips.
"Ah!" she added quickly, for at her words Martin-Roget had turned hishead away and shrugged his shoulders with well-assumed indifference,"you cannot and dare not let me see him. For three days now you havekept us apart and no doubt fed us both up with your lies. My father isduc de Kernogan, Marquis de Trentemoult," she added proudly, "he wouldfar rather die side by side with his daughter than see her wedded to acriminal."
"And you, my girl," rejoined Martin-Roget coldly, "would you see yourfather branded as a malefactor, linked to a thief and sent to perish inthe Loire?"
"My father," she retorted, "will die as he has lived, a brave andhonourable gentleman. The brand of a malefactor cannot cling to hisname. Sorrow we are ready to endure--death is less than nothing tous--we will but follow in the footsteps of our King and of our Queenand of many whom we care for and whom you and your proconsul and yourcolleagues have brutally murdered. Shame cannot touch us, and our honourand our pride are so far beyond your reach that your impious andblood-stained hands can never sully them."
She had spoken very slowly and very quietly. There were no heroics abouther attitude. Even Martin-Roget--callous brute though he was--felt thatshe had only spoken just as she felt, and that nothing that he mightsay, no plea that he might urge, would ever shake her determination.
"Then it seems to me," he said, "that I am only wasting my time bytrying to make you see reason and common-sense. You look upon me as abrute. Well! perhaps I am. At any rate I am that which your father andyou have made me. Four years ago, when you had power over me and overmine, you brutalised us. To-day we--the people--are your masters and wemake you suffer, not for all--that were impossible--but for part of whatyou made us suffer. That, after all, is only bare justice. By making youmy wife I would have saved you from death--not from humiliation, forthat you must endure, and at my hands in a full measure--but I wouldhave made you my wife because I still have pleasant recollections ofthat kiss which I snatched from you on that never-to-be-forgotten nightand in the darkness--a kiss for which you would gladly have seen me hangthen, if you could have laid hands on me."
He paused, trying to read what was going on behind those fine eyes ofhers, with their vacant, far-seeing gaze which seemed like anotherbarrier between her and him. At this rough allusion to that moment ofhorror and of shame, she had not moved a muscle, nor did her gaze loseits fixity.
He laughed.
"It is an unpleasant recollection, eh, my proud lady? The first kiss ofpassion was not implanted on your exquisite lips by that fine gentlemanwhom you deemed worthy of your hand and your love, but by Pierre Adet,the miller's son, what? a creature not quite so human as your horse oryour pet dog. Neither you nor I are like to forget that methinks...."
Yvonne vouchsafed no reply to the taunt, and for a moment there wassilence in the room, until Chauvelin's thin, suave voice broke in quitegently:
"Do not lose your patience with the wench, citizen Martin-Roget. Yourtime is too precious to be wasted in useless recriminations."
"I have finished with her," retorted the other sullenly. "She shall bedealt with now as I think best. I agree with citizen Carrier. He isright after all. To the Loire with the lot of that foul brood!"
"Nay!" here rejoined Chauvelin with placid urbanity, "are you not alittle harsh, citizen, with our fair Yvonne? Remember! Women have moodsand megrims. What they indignantly refuse to yield to us one day, theywill grant with a smile the next. Our beautiful Yvonne is no exceptionto this rule, I'll warrant."
Even while he spoke he threw a glance of warning on his colleague. Therewas something enigmatic in his manner at this moment, in the strangesuavity wherewith he spoke these words of conciliation and ofgentleness. Martin-Roget was as usual ready with an impatient retort. Hewas in a mood to bully and to brutalise, to heap threat upon threat, towin by frightfulness that which he could not gain by persuasion. Perhapsthat at this moment he desired Yvonne de Kernogan for wife, more eventhan he desired her death. At any rate his headstrong temper was readyto chafe against any warning or advice. But once again Chauvelin'sstronger mentality dominated over his less resolute colleague.Martin-Roget--the fowler--was in his turn caught in the net of a keenersnarer than himself, and whilst--with the obstinacy of the weak--he wasmaking mental resolutions to rebuke Chauvelin for his interference lateron, he had already fallen in with the latter's attitude.
"The wench has had three whole days wherein to alter her present mood,"he said more quietly, "and you know yourself, citizen, that theproconsul will not wait after to-day."
"The day is young yet," rejoined Chauvelin. "It still hath
six hours toits credit.... Six hours.... Three hundred and sixty minutes!" hecontinued with a pleasant little laugh; "time enough for a woman tochange her mind three hundred and sixty times. Let me advise you,citizen, to leave the wench to her own meditations for the present, andI trust that she will accept the advice of a man who has a sincereregard for her beauty and her charms and who is old enough to be herfather, and seriously think the situation over in a conciliatory spirit.M. le duc de Kernogan will be grateful to her, for of a truth he is notover happy either at the moment ... and will be still less happy in thedepot to-morrow: it is over-crowded, and typhus, I fear me, is rampantamong the prisoners. He has, I am convinced--in spite of what thecitizeness says to the contrary--a rooted objection to being hurled intothe Loire, or to be arraigned before the bar of the Convention, not asan aristocrat and a traitor but as an unit of an undesirable herd ofcriminals sent up to Paris for trial, by an anxious and harriedproconsul. There! there!" he added benignly, "we will not worry our fairYvonne any longer, will we, citizen? I think she has grasped thealternative and will soon realise that marriage with an honourablepatriot is not such an untoward fate after all."
"And now, citizen Martin-Roget," he concluded, "I pray you allow me totake my leave of the fair lady and to give you the wise recommendationto do likewise. She will be far better alone for awhile. Night bringsgood counsel, so they say."
He watched the girl keenly while he spoke. Her impassivity had notdeserted her for a single moment: but whether her calmness was of hopeor of despair he was unable to decide. On the whole he thought it mustbe the latter: hope would have kindled a spark in those dark,purple-rimmed eyes, it would have brought moisture to the lips, a tremorto the hand.
The Scarlet Pimpernel was in Nantes--that fact was established beyond adoubt--but Chauvelin had come to the conclusion that so far as YvonneDewhurst herself was concerned, she knew nothing of the mysteriousagencies that were working on her behalf.
Chauvelin's hand closed with a nervous contraction over the packet ofpapers in his pocket. Something of the secret of that enigmatic Englishadventurer lay revealed within its folds. Chauvelin had not yet had theopportunity of examining them: the interview with Yvonne had been themost important business for the moment.
From somewhere in the distance a city clock struck six. The afternoonwas wearing on. The keenest brain in Europe was on the watch to drag onewoman and one man from the deadly trap which had been so successfullyset for them. A few hours more and Chauvelin in his turn would bepitting his wits against the resources of that intricate brain, and hefelt like a war-horse scenting blood and battle. He was aching to getto work--aching to form his plans--to lay his snares--to dispose histrap so that the noble English quarry should not fail to be caughtwithin its meshes.
He gave a last look to Yvonne, who was still sitting quite impassive,gazing through the squalid walls into some beautiful distance, thereflection of which gave to her pale, wan face an added beauty.
"Let us go, citizen Martin-Roget," he said peremptorily. "There isnothing else that we can do here."
And Martin-Roget, the weaker morally of the two, yielded to the strongerpersonality of his colleague. He would have liked to stay on for awhile,to gloat for a few moments longer over the helplessness of the woman whoto him represented the root of every evil which had ever befallen himand his family. But Chauvelin commanded and he felt impelled to obey. Hegave one long, last look on Yvonne--a look that was as full of triumphas of mockery--he looked round the four dank walls, the unglazed window,the broken pitcher, the mouldy bread. Revenge was of a truth thesweetest emotion of the human heart. Pierre Adet--son of the miller whohad been hanged by orders of the Duc de Kernogan for a crime which hehad never committed--would not at this moment have changed places withFortune's Benjamin.
IV
Downstairs in Louise Adet's kitchen, Martin-Roget seized his colleagueby the arm.
"Sit down a moment, citizen," he said persuasively, "and tell me whatyou think of it all."
Chauvelin sat down at the other's invitation. All his movements wereslow, deliberate, perfectly calm.
"I think," he said drily, "as far as your marriage with the wench isconcerned, that you are beaten, my friend."
"Tshaw!" The exclamation, raucous and surcharged with hate came fromLouise Adet. She, too, like Pierre--more so than Pierre mayhap--hadcause to hate the Kernogans. She, too, like Pierre had lived the lastthree days in the full enjoyment of the thought that Fate and Chancewere about to level things at last between herself and those detestedaristos. Silent and sullen she was shuffling about in the room, amongher pots and pans, but she kept an eye upon her brother's movements andan ear on what he said. Men were apt to lose grit where a pretty wenchwas concerned. It takes a woman's rancour and a woman's determination tocarry a scheme of vengeance against another to a successful end.
Martin-Roget rejoined more calmly:
"I knew that she would still be obstinate," he said. "If I forced herinto a marriage, which I have the right to do, she might take her ownlife and make me look a fool. So I don't want to do that. I believe inthe persuasiveness of the Rat Mort to-night," he added with a cynicallaugh, "and if that fails.... Well! I was never really in love with thefair Yvonne, and now she has even ceased to be desirable.... If the RatMort fails to act on her sensibilities as I would wish, I can easilyconsole myself by following Carrier's herd to Paris. Louise shall comewith me--eh, little sister?--and we'll give ourselves the satisfactionof seeing M. le duc de Kernogan and his exquisite daughter stand in thefelon's dock--tried for malpractices and for evil living. We'll see thembranded as convicts and packed off like so much cattle to Cayenne. Thatwill be a sight," he concluded with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "whichwill bring rest to my soul."
He paused: his face looked sullen and evil under the domination of thatpassion which tortured him.
Louise Adet had shuffled up close to her brother. In one hand she heldthe wooden spoon wherewith she had been stirring the soup: with theother she brushed away the dark, lank hair which hung in strands overher high, pale forehead. In appearance she was a woman immeasurablyolder than her years. Her face had the colour of yellow parchment, herskin was stretched tightly over her high cheekbones--her lips werecolourless and her eyes large, wide-open, were pale in hue and circledwith red. Just now a deep frown of puzzlement between her brows added asinister expression to her cadaverous face:
"The Rat Mort?" she queried in that tired voice of hers, "Cayenne? Whatis all that about?"
"A splendid scheme of Carrier's, my Louise," replied Martin-Rogetairily. "We convey the Kernogan woman to the Rat Mort. To-night adescent will be made on that tavern of ill-fame by a company of Maratsand every man, woman and child within it will be arrested and sent toParis as undesirable inhabitants of this most moral city: in Paris theywill be tried as malefactors or evil-doers--cut throats, thieves, what?and deported as convicts to Cayenne, or else sent to the guillotine. TheKernogans among that herd! What sayest thou to that, little sister? Thyfather, thy lover, hung as thieves! M. le Duc and Mademoiselle brandedas convicts! 'Tis pleasant to think on, eh?"
Louise made no reply. She stood looking at her brother, her pale,red-rimmed eyes seemed to drink in every word that he uttered, while herbony hand wandered mechanically across and across her forehead as if ina pathetic endeavour to clear the brain from everything save of thesatisfying thoughts which this prospect of revenge had engendered.
Chauvelin's gentle voice broke in on her meditations.
"In the meanwhile," he said placidly, "remember my warning, citizenMartin-Roget. There are passing clever and mighty agencies at work, evenat this hour, to wrest your prey from you. How will you convey the wenchto the Rat Mort? Carrier has warned you of spies--but I have warned youagainst a crowd of English adventurers far more dangerous than an armyof spies. Three pairs of eyes--probably more, and one pair the keenestin Europe--will be on the watch to seize upon the woman and to carry heroff under your very nose."
Martin-Roget utt
ered a savage oath.
"That brute Carrier has left me in the lurch," he said roughly. "I don'tbelieve in your nightmares and your English adventurers, still it wouldhave been better if I could have had the woman conveyed to the tavernunder armed escort."
"Armed escort has been denied you, and anyway it would not be much use.You and I, citizen Martin-Roget, must act independently of Carrier. Yourfriends down there," he added, indicating the street with a jerk of thehead, "must redouble their watchfulness. The village lads of Vertou areof a truth no match intellectually with our English adventurers, butthey have vigorous fists in case there is an attack on the wench whileshe walks across to the Rat Mort."
"It would be simpler," here interposed Louise roughly, "if we were toknock the wench on the head and then let the lads carry her across."
"It would not be simpler," retorted Chauvelin drily, "for Carrier mightat any moment turn against us. Commandant Fleury with half a company ofMarats will be posted round the Rat Mort, remember. They may interferewith the lads and arrest them and snatch the wench from us, when all ourplans may fall to the ground ... one never knows what double gameCarrier may be playing. No! no! the girl must not be dragged or carriedto the Rat Mort. She must walk into the trap of her own free will."
"But name of a dog! how is it to be done?" ejaculated Martin-Roget, andhe brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table. "The womanwill not follow me--or Louise either--anywhere willingly."
"She must follow a stranger then--or one whom she thinks astranger--some one who will have gained her confidence...."
"Impossible."
"Oh! nothing is impossible, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin blandly.
"Do you know a way then?" queried the other with a sneer.
"I think I do. If you will trust me that is----"
"I don't know that I do. Your mind is so intent on those Englishadventurers, you are like as not to let the aristos slip through yourfingers."
"Well, citizen," retorted Chauvelin imperturbably, "will you take therisk of conveying the fair Yvonne to the Rat Mort by twelve o'clockto-night? I have very many things to see to, I confess that I should beglad if you will ease me from that responsibility."
"I have already told you that I see no way," retorted Martin-Roget witha snarl.
"Then why not let me act?"
"What are you going to do?"
"For the moment I am going for a walk on the quay and once more willcommune with the North-West wind."
"Tshaw!" ejaculated Martin-Roget savagely.
"Nay, citizen," resumed Chauvelin blandly, "the winds of heaven areexcellent counsellors. I told you so just now and you agreed with me.They blow away the cobwebs of the mind and clear the brain for seriousthinking. You want the Kernogan girl to be arrested inside the Rat Mortand you see no way of conveying her thither save by the use of violence,which for obvious reasons is to be deprecated: Carrier, for equallyobvious reasons, will not have her taken to the place by force. On theother hand you admit that the wench would not follow youwillingly----Well, citizen, we must find a way out of that impasse, forit is too unimportant an one to stand in the way of our plans: for thisI must hold a consultation with the North-West wind."
"I won't allow you to do anything without consulting me."
"Am I likely to do that? To begin with I shall have need of yourco-operation and that of the citizeness."
"In that case ..." muttered Martin-Roget grudgingly. "But remember," headded with a return to his usual self-assured manner, "remember thatYvonne and her father belong to me and not to you. I brought them intoNantes for mine own purposes--not for yours. I will not have my revengejeopardised so that your schemes may be furthered."
"Who spoke of my schemes, citizen Martin-Roget?" broke in Chauvelin withperfect urbanity. "Surely not I? What am I but an humble tool in theservice of the Republic?... a tool that has proved useless--a failure,what? My only desire is to help you to the best of my abilities. Yourenemies are the enemies of the Republic: my ambition is to help you indestroying them."
For a moment longer Martin-Roget hesitated: he abominated thissuggestion of becoming a mere instrument in the hands of this man whomhe still would have affected to despise--had he dared. But here came thedifficulty: he no longer dared to despise Chauvelin. He felt thestrength of the man--the clearness of his intellect, and thoughhe--Martin-Roget--still chose to disregard every warning in connexionwith the English spies, he could not wholly divest his mind from thepossibility of their presence in Nantes. Carrier's scheme was somagnificent, so satisfying, that the ex-miller's son was ready to humblehis pride and set his arrogance aside in order to see it carried throughsuccessfully.
So after a moment or two, despite the fact that he positively ached toshut Chauvelin out of the whole business, Martin-Roget gave a grudgingassent to his proposal.
"Very well!" he said, "you see to it. So long as it does not interferewith my plans...."
"It can but help them," rejoined Chauvelin suavely. "If you will act asI shall direct I pledge you my word that the wench will walk to the RatMort of her free will and at the hour when you want her. What else isthere to say?"
"When and where shall we meet again?"
"Within the hour I will return here and explain to you and to thecitizeness what I want you to do. We will get the aristos inside the RatMort, never fear; and after that I think that we may safely leaveCarrier to do the rest, what?"
He picked up his hat and wrapped his mantle round him. He took nofurther heed of Martin-Roget or of Louise, for suddenly he had felt thecrackling of crisp paper inside the breast-pocket of his coat and in amoment the spirit of the man had gone a-roaming out of the narrowconfines of this squalid abode. It had crossed the English Channel andwandered once more into a brilliantly-lighted ball-room where anexquisitely dressed dandy declaimed inanities and doggrel rhymes for thedelectation of a flippant assembly: it heard once more the lazy,drawling speech, the inane, affected laugh, it caught the glance of apair of lazy, grey eyes fixed mockingly upon him. Chauvelin's thinclaw-like hand went back to his pocket: it felt that packet of papers,it closed over it like a vulture's talon does upon a prey. He no longerheard Martin-Roget's obstinate murmurings, he no longer felt himself tobe the disgraced, humiliated servant of the State: rather did he feelonce more the master, the leader, the successful weaver of an hundredclever intrigues. The enemy who had baffled him so often had chosen oncemore to throw down the glove of mocking defiance. So be it! The battlewould be fought this night--a decisive one--and long live the Republicand the power of the people!
With a curt nod of the head Chauvelin turned on his heel and withoutwaiting for Martin-Roget to follow him, or for Louise to light him onhis way, he strode from the room, and out of the house, and had soondisappeared in the darkness in the direction of the quay.
V
Once more free from the encumbering companionship of Martin-Roget,Chauvelin felt free to breathe and to think. He, the obscure andimpassive servant of the Republic, the cold-blooded Terrorist who hadgone through every phrase of an exciting career without moving a muscleof his grave countenance, felt as if every one of his arteries was onfire. He strode along the quay in the teeth of the north-westerly wind,grateful for the cold blast which lashed his face and cooled histhrobbing temples.
The packet of papers inside his coat seemed to sear his breast.
Before turning to go along the quay he paused, hesitating for a momentwhat he would do. His very humble lodgings were at the far end of thetown, and every minute of time was precious. Inside Le Bouffay, where hehad a small room allotted to him as a minor representative in Nantes ofthe Committee of Public Safety, there was the ever present danger ofprying eyes.
On the whole--since time was so precious--he decided on returning to LeBouffay. The concierge and the clerk fortunately let him through withoutthose official delays which he--Chauvelin--was wont to find so gallingever since his disgrace had put a bar against the opening of every doorat the bare mention of his name or
the display of his tricolour scarf.
He strode rapidly across the hall: the men on guard eyed him with lazyindifference as he passed. Once inside his own sanctum he lookedcarefully around him; he drew the curtain closer across the window anddragged the table and a chair well away from the range which might becovered by an eye at the keyhole. It was only when he had thoroughlyassured himself that no searching eye or inquisitive ear could possiblybe watching over him that he at last drew the precious packet of papersfrom his pocket. He undid the red ribbon which held it together andspread the papers out on the table before him. Then he examined themcarefully one by one.
As he did so an exclamation of wrath or of impatience escaped him fromtime to time, once he laughed--involuntarily--aloud.
The examination of the papers took him some time. When he had finishedhe gathered them all together again, retied the bit of ribbon round themand slipped the packet back into the pocket of his coat. There was alook of grim determination on his face, even though a bitter sighescaped his set lips.
"Oh! for the power," he muttered to himself, "which I had a year ago!for the power to deal with mine enemy myself. So you have come toNantes, my valiant Sir Percy Blakeney?" he added while a short, sardoniclaugh escaped his thin, set lips: "and you are determined that I shallknow how and why you came! Do you reckon, I wonder, that I have nolonger the power to deal with you? Well!..."
He sighed again but with more satisfaction this time.
"Well!..." he reiterated with obvious complacency. "Unless that oafCarrier is a bigger fool than I imagine him to be I think I have youthis time, my elusive Scarlet Pimpernel."