The Dark Secret of Josephine

"Charles Fox surpassed himself in unscrupulous vindictiveness and, for once, abandoning his championship of the Republicans to accuse Ministers of 'having deliberately sent noble gentlemen to be massacred'; and Sheridan with eager spite declared that 'though British blood had not flowed at Quiberon, yet British honour had bled at every pore'— a phrase that ran round England."

"That members should use the privilege of the House to utter such diabolical slanders in it fills me with disgust," said Roger angrily. "But may I ask, Sir, why you did not stiffen these inexperienced French with some regiments of well-disciplined British troops?"

"You well may," the Prime Minister replied bitterly. "That was my original intention, but those stiff-necked French aristocrats would have none of it. They were ready enough to accept British money, British arms and a British fleet to put them safely ashore; but they insisted that, in the initial operation at least, only Frenchmen should be allowed to set foot on the sacred soil of France. For a year or more General the Earl of Moira's force had been standing by in the Channel Islands held ready for just such an employment; but I was brought to agree that it should be used only as a follow-up when the invasion was well under way. In consequence, apart from a few score of our Marines, the landings were entirely French.

"Their reception by the Breton people could not have been more enthusiastic. De Puisaye's optimism in that respect was amply justified, except in one important respect. M. de Charette, who has proved himself the most able and resourceful of the Vendeean leaders, refused to join in the revolt from personal jealousy. Nevertheless, on the day following .the landings, the Bishop of Dol, who had accompanied the expedition, celebrated a Mass in the open which was attended by many thousands of persons, all of whom declared their willingness to lay down their lives for the church and monarchy.

"Thus, apart from de Charette's churlish aloofness, the campaign could not have had a more favourable beginning. It was with the opening of military operations that serious dissensions first threatened its success. It had been the Cabinet's intention that de Puisaye should assume the over-all command; but, most unfortunately, their Lordships of the Admiralty had issued a document which could be read by the Comte d'Hervilly as giving him the command of the French forces raised in England. Had de Puisaye accepted that it would have left him with authority only over the Chouan bands which had risen at his call. In consequence, the two nobles were soon at loggerheads; and not solely over the question of command either. De Puisaye was all for taking the utmost advantage accruing from the surprise landings by an immediate advance inland, whereas d'Hervilly favoured first consolidating their position and taking a fortress that dominated the Quiberon peninsula.

"The fortress soon surrendered and, with almost unbelievable folly, d'Hervilly allowed some of the men in it who protested their monarchist sympathies to remain there as part of its new garrison. In the mean­time the energetic General Hoche had rallied the Republican forces, driven in de Puisaye's Chouan outposts and bottled up the Royalists by entrenching his men across the peninsula's neck.

"With Sir John Warren's willing collaboration, de Puisaye then despatched a force under his most trusted Lieutenant, de Tinteniac, by sea, to land farther up the coast and attack the Republicans in the rear. At the time I was, of course, unaware of it, but later it transpired that, in approving the arrangements for the campaign, the Bourbon Princes were using de Puisaye only as a cat's-paw, because he favoured a Constitutional Monarchy. Being set for absolutism they intended to cast him aside as soon as he had served their purpose by raising his followers in Brittany. But the treacherous fools acted prematurely. In order to discredit de Puisaye as a General, the Princes' agents in Paris sent instructions to his Lieutenant on landing that there had been a change of plan and he should now make for St. Malo. Tinteniac, believing that he was acting in accordance with de Puisaye's wishes, obeyed. In consequence, when the Royalists made their attempt to break out of the peninsula, the attack on the Republican's rear, on which they had counted to aid them, never matured,"

Roger groaned. "What a shocking tale of mismanagement and perfidy."

"It is not yet done." Mr. Pitt pushed aside his plate with an angry gesture. "The attack in the isthmus was made on July the 16th. That morning the transports bringing fifteen hundred veteran emigre's from Germany, under the young Comte de Sombreuil, arrived in Quiberon Bay. From fear that de Sombreuil might deprive him of sole credit for a victory d'Hervilly insisted on attacking before there had been time to disembark these reinforcements. His volunteers were routed, and the pursuit of them by Hoche's cavalry was checked only by the heavy fire brought to bear by Sir John Warren's gunboats.

"On being informed of the Royalist dispositions de Sombreuil pressed to be allowed to take over the fortress, which was the key to the whole position, and substitute for its garrison some of his seasoned troops; but d'Hervilly would not hear of it. His refusal led to his own final defeat and that of everyone else concerned.

"Some of the men of the original garrison who had pretended to have monarchist sympathies went secretly to General Hoche, and suggested to him a plan by which the fortress could be retaken. On the night of July the 20th, under cover of a storm, that by ill-fortune had forced Sir John Warren's ships to withdraw from the rocky coast to the safety of the open sea, these traitors led Hoche's men along the beach past sentries, who were also in the plot, to the fortress. There, aided by other traitors within, they were hauled up over the battlements, and in the dawn took by surprise those of the garrison who had remained loyal.

"Simultaneously Hoche, no longer having to fear a bombardment from the British Fleet, launched a resolute attack upon the Royalist positions. The fortress fell, and its guns were turned upon d'Hervilly's men. He and his regiments of volunteers, the Chouans, and with them hundreds of women and children, were driven back into the sea. De Sombreuil and his veterans threw themselves into a smaller fort, but instead of having the sense to hang on there until our ships could rescue them, they surrendered. As a result of this debacle the Repub­licans took over six thousand prisoners, near seven hundred of them being emigres, to whom they later gave a mockery of a court-martial and then shot."

Roger nodded. "This ghastly business puts then a final end to any hope of embodying the Vendeeans in a future army of liberation."

The Prime Minister selected a peach and began to peel it "Not quite; but as nearly as in my opinion makes little difference. It had been agreed that the British troops under my lord Moira should follow de Puisaye to Quiberon and that with them should go the Comte d'Artois. At the news that His Royal Highness meant to assume command of the expedition in person, Charette suddenly emerged from his fit of sulks and declared that the presence of a Prince of Blood was all that was needed to ensure a victorious campaign by his partisans. Accordingly, we had d'Artois and his feckless, venal household conveyed to the Isle of Yeu, which lies some distance off the coast of Brittany. But there he sits, and I am convinced has not the courage to join Charette in the new revolt that temperamental but gallant man is now leading."

"I trust Sir," said Roger with an uneasy glance, "that you have no thought of despatching me to His Highness, with the idea that I might induce him to put himself at the head of the Royalist forces, then act as adviser to him?"

"Good gracious, no!" Mr. Pitt gave a pale smile. "I set a better value on your talents than to ask you to waste them in an employment like to prove so unprofitable. Yet it was, in part, this Quiberon disaster which caused me to send for you."

"How so, Sir?"

"For once I acted on an impulse. It was on July the 22nd, which may be accounted the blackest day that Britain has known for many a year. That morning the Spanish Ambassador had informed my lord Grenville that his country found herself so hard pressed that she was compelled to withdraw from the Alliance. Then in the evening there arrived the news that the Quiberon expedition, the spearhead of the invasion on which we had pinned such hopes, had been completely annihilated. That night I wrote the order for your recall."

Roger's forehead creased in a puzzled frown, and he murmured: "I still do not see . . ."

"It is quite simple, Mr. Brook. The appreciation which you gave me when we last met of future political trends in France has, God be thanked, proved wrong. But your pessimistic views about the war showed an uncanny foresight and have proved terribly correct. I make no promise to follow your advice; but I desire you to tell me what, were you in my place, you would do now?"

"Really, Sir!" Roger's face showed his astonishment. "You rate my abilities far higher than they merit Besides, how can I even venture an opinion, when I have been out of touch with events in Europe for so long?"

"You know the broad picture, and that is sufficient for our purpose. During the past eight months the Grand Alliance has fallen in pieces about our ears. In February Tuscany caved in and the Netherlands Army collapsed. In April we lost Prussia, till then our most potent ally, together with Westphalia and Saxony. In May the Dutch went over to our enemies. In July the Spaniards too betrayed us, and since then Hesse-Cassel, Switzerland and Denmark have all sued for peace. It is true that Catherine of Russia has now made a pact with the Emperor and promised to send him some support; but she is old, ill and has little to gain, so I doubt if she will despatch more than a token force; and in the meantime our Austrian allies are near played out Everywhere the armies of the French Republic are victorious, and with the destruction of the Quiberon expedition there disappeared our last hope of striking a blow at its heart."

Roger considered for a moment, then he said slowly: "There seems nought for it, then, but to initiate measures which, while safeguarding the interests of such allies as are left to us, might bring us an honourable peace."

Mr. Pitt raised an eyebrow. "Knowing your hatred of the Revolution­aries, Mr. Brook, I had never thought to hear you advocate such a policy."

With a shrug, Roger replied: "As long as I live, Sir, I shall feel a loathing for the men who must still make up the bulk of the Con­vention. But it would be wrong to allow one's sentiments to influence one's judgment on such an issue. If there is no longer any hope of our emerging victorious from the war, its continuance can result only in a profitless (draining away of our country's resources. Therefore, the sooner we can negotiate a reasonably satisfactory peace, the better —and it would be better still if some formula could be found to bring about at the same time a general pacification of Europe."

"Well said, Mr. Brook; well said!" The Prime Minister smiled. "Although I challenged you, I am entirely at one with you in this. As you must know, I have always regarded war as senseless, barbarous, and the worst scourge that can afflict the people of any nation. Although under great pressure, I succeeded in restraining our country from entering the present conflict until the French declared war upon us; and, just as our cause is, I would give much to put an end to it, pro­viding that can be done with honour. The problem is, how can we set the stage for an accommodation which I believe would now be as welcome to the war-weary French nation as to our own?"

"You tell me, Sir, that 1 proved wrong in my prediction that the terrorists in Paris would continue to cut one another's throats, and that the survivors would preserve in their policies of greed, ruthless repression and determination to spread their nefarious doctrines by force of arms. I still find it hard to believe that they have acted other­wise. May I ask your grounds for believing that these leopards have changed their spots?"

"They are numerous, and I think sound. During the months following Robespierre's fall many laws restricting the liberty of the subject were repealed, and the public journals were again given a substantial degree of freedom. Last November that hotbed of iniquity, the Jacobin Club, was closed. In December the seventy-three deputies whom the Terrorists had expelled from the Chamber were welcomed back to it, thus greatly strengthening the hands of the Moderates. In March then* return was followed by that of such of the Girondins as survived the Terror, either in prison or as hunted outlaws. This spring, too, the sons-culottes, furious at the turn things were taking, twice endeavoured to overthrow the Government, but on each occasion both the National Guard and regular troops sided with it; so these revolts were swiftly crushed. By summer a degree of religious toleration had been granted, and in almost every village the Mass was again being celebrated. Lastly, since June, the French journals have carried many reports of minor Terrorists being lynched by the people they once persecuted. Is that enough for you?"

Roger smiled. "All of it is most excellent news; but I pray you tell me this. Do the names of Billand-Varennes, Collot d'Herbois, Fouché, Tallien, Fréron, David, Amer, Rewbell, Merlin of Douai, Bourdon of the Oise, Cambon and the Abbé Sieves, still appear as those of active deputies in the reports furnished you of proceedings in the Chamber; and does the real power still lie in the hands of the Committee of Public Safety?"

"The first two you mention were among a group of Jacobins sen­tenced to transportation after the revolt last May; but, as far as my memory serves me, most of the others are still leading figures; and although the powers of the Committee have been much curtailed, it remains the executive body through which the nation is governed."

"Then, Sir, I must confess that I am a man who 'convinced against his will is of the same opinion still'. Yet it seems that pressure of public opinion has forced these monsters to disguise their true feelings for the tune being; so advantage might be taken of that while it lasts. What is to prevent you from putting out peace feelers to them through diplomatic channels in some neutral country?"

"Should we do so and they are met with a rebuff, we would have only encouraged our enemies by disclosing signs of weakness; and my agents in Paris inform me that there is little hope of such overtures being received favourably."

"That, Sir, as you may recall, was my own opinion; but you maintain that during the past year matters have changed. It can hardly be doubted that after all the French people have suffered during the last six years they must crave beyond all things a cessation of strife. Indeed, it is computed that not less than a mMon of them have died in massacres, purges, revolts and the Vendeean wars; universal conscription has brought ruin to their industries and agriculture; they have lived on the verge of starvation since '93 and the war continues to put an appalling strain upon their man-power. Therefore, admitting your con­tention that since the fall of Robespierre sheer weight of public opinion has forced his successors to give the people a much greater degree of freedom, surely that same weight of opinion might result in compelling them to give favourable consideration to overtures for peace?"

Mr. Pitt shook his head. "It is not as simple as that. Peace would inevitably lead to a further relaxation of the stranglehold that they still exercise on the nation. Such has been the change of sentiment in France recently that fresh elections would result in the return of a Chamber overwhelmingly in favour of the restoration of the Monarchy."

"The. reaction of which you speak was sooner or later inevitable; but I am a little surprised to learn that you think such a volte-face already assured of the support of the masses."

"I am certain of it. They have come to look back on the ancien regime as an era of peace and prosperity. Of course, they would not agree to the re-establishment of an aristocracy; but nine-tenths of them would favour a Limited Monarchy based on the Constitution granted by Louis XVI in '91. The Girondins, and other excluded deputies who have returned to the Convention, still exercise caution in their pronouncements, but I have reliable information that the majority of them are only waiting their chance to bring about a Restoration."

"The old gang would never agree to that"

"Exactly. And as long as the war continues they have a reasonable excuse for keeping the Rump Parliament that they still dominate, in being. With peace they would be forced to go to the country. They would lose their seats and a Restoration would follow. Near all of them voted for the late King's death; so, apart from all else, on the count of regicide they would be liable to lose their heads."

"Then, as I have always maintained, there can be little hope of peace until the hard core of the old Convention is, in some way, deprived of its power."

"That is the situation, but could it be done I believe our chances of bringing the conflict to an end are excellent."

Roger remained thoughtful for a moment, then he said: "It seems then, what we need is another General Monk, who will turn his army about, march it on Paris, and declare for the King."

A slow smile lit the Prime Minister's lined face. "I am glad to find, Mr. Brook, that your sojourn in the Indies has not deprived you of your resource. It makes me all the more happy to be able to tell you that we have already anticipated you in this admirable solution to our difficulties. We have bought General Pichegru."

"The devil you have!"

"Yes. I am given to understand that he is not only a fine soldier but a patriotic and honest man, who feels great distress at the sad state into which his country has fallen. As the reward for marching his army on Paris, he has been promised the baton of a Marshal of France, the Government of Alsace, a million francs in cash, an income of 200,000 louis, an hotel in Paris and the Chateau of Chambord."

"Honest he may be!" Roger laughed. "But for a half of that I'd march an army to Cathay."

Mr. Pitt waved the remark aside. "In an issue of such importance what matter the size of the reward—providing he does what is required of him? The trouble at the moment is that he makes no move to earn it."

"He might do so, yet to actually secure all these fine things he would still have nought to rely on save the word of the Bourbon Princes. It may be that he hesitates to trust them."

"That had not occurred to me, although it may in part explain why he is holding back. The reason, according to the agent handling these negotiations, is that he feels misgivings about the reception he will meet with when he reaches Paris. Apparently he is loath to set out on the venture until fully convinced that by overthrowing the present French government he will be carrying out the wishes of a majority of the French people."

"His information on the state of things in France should be as good as your own. Are not the sort of things you have been telling me enough for him?"

"One would have thought they should be. But, remember, until quite recently, he has been a staunch Republican. For such the 'will of the people' is no more than a catch phrase. I think what he really requires before committing himself is a definite assurance that a majority of the more moderate deputies, intellectuals and others out of the common rut, like himself, have also experienced a change of heart, and now favour a Restoration. In short, he will act only if we can provide him with reliable evidence that the type of people he respects will not regard him as a traitor."

Roger's expression did not change by the flicker of an eyelid but as though a thick curtain had suddenly been reft aside he saw how the Prime Minister had ensnared him. With a skill which, now Roger realized it, he could not help but admire, Mr. Pitt had led the con­versation by gradual stages up to its present point. He assumed, and probably rightly, that Roger was the only man in the world who could " get for him evidence that such men as Barras, Carnot and Dubois-Crancé were willing to commit themselves. To have asked Roger straight out to return to Paris would have been to risk a flat refusal. Instead his advice had been asked, with the foregone conclusion that he would advocate the only sensible course. Then he had been shown how the course he advocated could not be pursued unless certain undertakings were secured in order to set General Pichegru's mind at rest. Into his racing speculations there broke the quiet voice of the tall, grey-faced man on the opposite side of the little table.

^‘A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Brook?"

"They were, Sir, that, unless I am much mistaken, you have played me a scurvy trick by presenting matters in such a way that I could be taken for a coward did I ignore their implication."

"Nay; do not say that No man who knows you would ever impugn your courage. But in view of your attitude when last we met I felt justified in acquainting you very fully with the great issues at stake before once more asking you to undertake a mission to Paris."

"Ah, there's the rub!" Roger made a grimace. "Were it to any other capital I would willingly accept your instructions. But these new developments in the political scene of Paris have made it no less dangerous for me. On the contrary, it is now probably even more so. Fourteen months ago I had already enough to dread from Fouché, knowing me to be English and your agent, and probably having had me listed for immediate arrest should I show my face there again. That risk I still run. Now, added to it, since many Royalists have been liberated from the prisons, I might at any time run into some gentleman who would recognize me as the Chevalier de Breuc, once honoured with the friendship of Queen Marie Antoinette; and, be­lieving that I had betrayed her cause, seek to bring about my ruin."

Mr. Pitt nodded. "It may be true that during the past year conditions in Paris have not changed to your advantage. But you have changed. When you refused to serve me further you were sick in mind and body. Today I rejoice to find that this is no longer so. Surely, now that you are fully restored, you will not refuse my plea once more to encounter danger, when by doing so you may be able to render a great service to your country?"

For a moment Roger did not reply, then he said: "I wonder whether what you ask is really necessary. It may not be. I mean, of course, for me to go to Paris. The kernel of this problem seems to be General Pichegru's attitude. Ought we not, as a first step, to obtain more definite information on the cause of his hesitation? Distrust of the Bourbon Princes may well be at the bottom of it. In any case, I feel we should get from him the exact conditions on which he is prepared to act, before proceeding further. To do otherwise would be to put the cart before the horse."

"There is good sense in that. Will you then undertake a mission to the General's headquarters?"

- As Roger nodded, the Prime Minister stretched out a long bony hand and patted him lightly on the knee. For such a shy and undemon­strative man it was a most unusual gesture. With a smile, he said:

"I felt sure that I could count upon you, Mr. Brook; but I am none the less grateful." Then he went on in a brisker tone. "Now with regard to your journey. These secret negotiations with Pichegru have, of course, been handled through the Prince de Conde, who commands the emigre army on the Rhine. It would be best if you went to his headquarters first, in order to ascertain if there have been any further developments in the matter of which I have not yet heard. Have you still the Letter of Marque I gave you some years ago, stating that on the affairs of our country you speak in my name?"

"Yes, Sir. It is safely locked away in the vaults of Hoare's Bank."

"Then that will be sufficient introduction for you to His Highness. I will, however, give you another letter to a gentleman you will find at his headquarters, named the Comte de Montgalliard."

Roger suddenly sat bolt upright "I pray you, Sir, do nothing of the land—at least if it is of the same man we are thinking, for I believe there are two brothers both of whom bear the title and the name."

"This is Count Maurice. He is a man of medium height with jet-black eyebrows, an over-long chin and slightly hump-backed."

"That is the rogue I have in mind. While I was involved with the Baron de Batz in an attempt to rescue Queen Marie Antoinette from prison, the Baron once pointed Montgalliard out to me. He bid me eware of him as the most plausible and unscrupulous villain unhung; then gave me chapter and verse for many of his treacheries."

"What you say perturbs me greatly, Mr. Brook. He is certainly most plausible and possesses both brains and charm, but it is he who initiated this affair and, having acted as go-between for the Prince de Condé and myself, holds all the threads of it"

"Then, Sir, you may be certain that he intends to betray you both, and General Pichegru into the bargain, for what he can get out of it. This makes it all the more imperative that negotiations with the General should be opened through a new channel. It is quite on the cards that Montgalliard has lied to him, and kept for himself any sum that he was supposed to have handed over as earnest money. In any case, I have always sought to minimize my own risk by working alone; so I would much prefer that my mission should not be disclosed to any Royalist agent."

"In that no doubt, you are wise; and it seems now that Montgalliard would prove a special source of danger to you. To relieve you of it, I will give you a letter to him, asking him to come immediately to London for further consultation. Then when he arrives I will find some pretext for keeping him here."

"For that I should be grateful, Sir. I take it you wish me to set out as soon as possible?"

"Yes. I will have a word with my cousin Grenville. Be good enough to wait upon him tomorrow at the Foreign Office. He will provide you with ample funds and make such arrangements for your journey as you may think best."

During a further half-hour Mr. Pitt gave Roger much useful in formation on the general situation, then Roger took his leave. As he came out from Number 10 a chill autumn wind was blowing gustily up Downing Street His blood having become thinned by the heat of the tropics, he shivered slightly.

He was hoping that Montgalliard, for his own evil purposes, had lied about General Pichegru's attitude. If so, with the Count out of the way, a firm and frank understanding with the General might prove all that was necessary. If not Roger knew that he would then have no option but to proceed to Paris. Grimly he faced the fact that he was once more in the toils of a great conspiracy; and he wondered a little unhappily when, and if, he would ever see Martinique again.

chapter XVIII

ENTER ROBERT MacELFIC

In Whitehall Roger picked up a sedan-chair and had himself carried to Amesbury House. The great mansion showed few signs of life: as, with the exception of Droopy Ned, the family was still in Wiltshire, and he had returned only the day before after his annual surfeit of mulberries. But the skeleton staff had been apprised by Dan of Roger's coming, and a footman in undress livery took him straight up to his friend's suite.

Droopy, in his favourite morning deshabille of a turban and oriental robe, had only just risen. He welcomed Roger with delight, then laughed at the sight of his beard; on which Roger promptly declared his intention of having it off before the morning was out A table was wheeled in with Droopy's breakfast and as it was now getting on for ten o'clock, Roger felt quite ready for a second, more sub­stantial, meal; so the two old cronies sat down to a brown trout brought in ice from the Avon, a big venison pasty and a couple of bottles of claret

Roger had no secrets from Droopy; so as soon as they were alone he described how Mr. Pitt had recalled him from Martinique and, that morning, inveigled him into a new mission. When he had given particulars of it Droopy nodded his bird-like head, and said:

"Seeing that this may prove the key to the pacification of all Europe, you could not possibly have refused. I'll vow, too, that despite the long face you are pulling about it you are by no means altogether displeased to find yourself back in your old harness. A nature such as yours could not remain content with the humdrum life of the Indies.*'

^r'Humdrum!" Roger laughed. "I have yet to tell you how near the women all came to being raped and myself murdered, first by pirates then by revolted negro slaves. Still, I’ll not deny there's something in what you say. I had been privy to half the intrigues in Europe for too long not to miss the spice that compensates for the danger of dabbling in them. In fact it the truth be told, most of my misgivings evaporated on the way here from Downing Street, and one-half of me is already agog to get to grips with this new problem."

Droopy smiled. "I'd have wagered a monkey on that proving so. As to your harrowing experiences on the voyage out, I greatly look forward to hearing your account of them; although the beautiful Georgina gave me the main particulars soon after she got back here late in March."

"Of course! How fares she now? Poor Charles's death was a sad blow to her."

"Aye, she took it mighty hard; and on her arrival went direct into retirement. She bade me to Stillwaters for a night, but only to give me news of you. Dowered with such vitality as she is, I'd not nave thought her capable of grieving so long for any man; except perhaps yourself. In the circumstances it was a great blessing that she had the carrying of her child to occupy her mind."

"Child!" exclaimed Roger.

"Yes. Did you not know? She told me she had written you that she was expecting one. You should have had her letter sometime in May."

Roger shook his head. "It never reached me; so I suppose the ship carrying it must have been lost or taken by a privateer. As Georgina was ever an erratic correspondent I did not wonder greatly at not hearing from her; though I wrote to her myself three times from Martinique."

"Then it will also be news to you that you are now a godfather. But that, of course, you could not know; as her son was not born until the 17th of August I acted as proxy for you at the christening; so can vouch for it that the little Earl is a right lusty fellow, and Georgina herself looking even more lovely now that she has become a mother."

"WelL strap me! I am more delighted than I can say. I must write to her in my first free hour; and will drive down to Stillwaters with gifts for my godson should time permit."

"You are then already under orders to set out?"

"Yes. I wait upon my lord Grenville tomorrow, and leave as soon after as a ship is available to carry me." Roger took a swig of wine, then added with a worried frown, "I would, though, that I had been called on to pit my wits against some people other than the French. So many of their leading men already have preconceived beliefs about me: the aristocrats that I am one of themselves but turned traitor, the ex-terrorists that I was a sans-culotte before becoming a member of that den of iniquity, the Paris Commune, and one at least of the latter knows me for what I am, an English spy. These tabs from the past that I must carry with me immeasurably increase the difficulties of my mission."

"Then why carry them?" Droopy rubbed a finger along the side of his beaky nose. "That brown beard you grew upon your voyage may now prove a godsend. With it you should have little difficulty in assuming a new identity."

"Egad; what an excellent thought!" Roger's blue eyes suddenly lit up. "Mr. Pitt scarce recognized me, and with a few other changes I could, sure enough, pass as a different person."

When they had finished breakfast, Droopy summoned his valet, who also served him as his barber, and after an hour in the man's capable hands Roger's metamorphosis was completed. His eyebrows had been plucked to half their former thickness, his long eyelashes had been shortened by an eighth of an inch, and the ball of his chin shaven clean. The last operation did away with a suggestion of scruffiness that the new-grown beard had given him, and now put him in a new fashion for growing a moustache and pointed side-whiskers, which was beginning to be effected by a number of young cavalry officers.

It remained only to invent a personality; and for that, lest anyone should think he was himself disguised, he decided to use the additional cover of a family resemblance by passing himself off as a non-existent cousin, and taking the name of Robert MacElfic.

As he was now anxious not to provoke gossip about his changed appearance, this debarred him from going to his club or looking up such old friends of his who might have been in London at this com­paratively dead season; so he called only at Hoare's Bank, not to collect the Letter of Marque, as that would be useless now he had decided to take the name of MacElfic, but for some other papers identifying him as Citizen Commissioner Breuc, which, although out of date, might still, serve him when he had to make his way through the lines of the Republican Army to General Pichegru.

In the afternoon he drove out to Richmond to assure himself that Thatched House Lodge was being properly taken care of, and it was decided that Dan, who had accompanied him, should remain there. That night he dined quietly at Amesbury House with Droopy, and gave him a full account of the perils through which he had passed on his way to Martinique and the happy months he had since spent there.

Next morning he went to the Foreign Office. That stiff, unbending man, Lord Grenville, received him most courteously, and with the little affability of which he was capable, then handed him the letter from Mr. Pitt to Montgalliard. Having approved Roger's design to assume a new identity, he furnished him with a British Diplomatic passport on special thin paper, in the name of MacElfic, credentials to the Prince de Condé, a bag of gold in various currencies and open drafts for the much greater sums he might need for bribery on both a banker named Mayer Anselm Bauer in Frankfurt and a holder of British secret funds in Paris. He then announced that, subject to Roger's approval, he had already made arrangements for a Naval cutter to put him ashore, weather permitting, between Dunkirk and Ostend in the early hours of the following morning.

If the vessel was to catch the tide this meant for Roger an almost immediate departure; but, having no reason to suggest a postponement, he agreed, and hastened back across St James s Park to Amesbury House. There he wrote letters to Amanda, Georgina and his father; then, accompanied by Droopy Ned, he drove down to Greenwich, where the cutter was lying in readiness to take him across the Channel.

No sooner was he aboard than she cast off from her buoy and began to drop down river. Once more Roger waved good-bye to Droopy, who stood, a tall stooping figure, peering short-sightedly after him from the wharf. Then, as it was still not yet two o'clock, he settled himself comfortably to watch through the long afternoon the multi­farious activities of the shipping in the lower reaches of the Thames.

When dusk fell the cutter was still in the estuary of the river; but soon afterwards she picked up a good south-westerly breeze, and at half-past four in the morning Mr. 'Robert MacElfic, now wearing a heavy multi-coloured coat, was landed without incident on a deserted beach only a few miles from Ostend.

As a result of the long occupation of the Belgian Netherlands by Austria, much German was spoken in these parts as well as the local Flemish; but owing to the proximity of the French frontier, most of the better-class people also spoke some French. The French Repub­licans were, too, now the masters there; so Roger decided to use their language, and from the beginning pose as a French official, since to do so offered the best prospect of getting his wants promptly attended to.

By six o'clock he was breakfasting at a good, but not pretentious, hotel in the town; and soon afterwards set out in a post-chaise he had hired from its landlord to take him to Brussels. He reached the city by two o'clock in the afternoon and there proceeded to make more elaborate arrangements for the continuance of his journey. As he was going into the war area he had to put down a considerable deposit to secure a light travelling coach, but that means of transport had the advantage over taking to horse that he could sleep in it, and so arrive at his destination more speedily and less fatigued. He then purchased a small valise, toilet gear, a change of linen, and a supply of food and wine; so that he need stop for a meal on the way only if he felt inclined. Having tucked away a good hot dinner, he had his things packed into the coach and at six o'clock, with two coachmen on its box to drive turn and turn about, took the road south-east to Namur.

Mr. Pitt had given him roughly the dispositions of the armies, and he had, as far as possible, confirmed them while in Brussels." There were still considerable British forces in Hanover, and as the Prussians in their peace treaty with the French had guaranteed the neutrality of the -North German States, it was a sore point with Ministers that they remained tied up there to no purpose. But, out of pride, King George had refused to allow his German dominion to be denuded of troops; so to the French Army of the North, commanded by General Moreau, there was now no opposition, and it was employed only in garrisoning the fortresses of Belgium and Holland.

Farther south the Army of the Sambre and Meuse, under General Jour dan, and the Army of the Rhine and Moselle, under General Pichegru, had been co-operating, with the evident intent of endeavour­ing to drive the two Austrian armies back on to the Danube. Jourdan had laid siege to Luxemburg and. with the assistance of Pichegru's left wing, to Mainz, but the sieges had gone slowly, owing to Carnot's no longer being at me Ministry of War, and the incompetence of his successors in furnishing the armies with adequate supplies. In June Luxemburg had at last surrendered; so Jourdan had then been able to push on. Throwing the bulk of his army across the Rhine at Dusseldorf, he had swung south down the right bank of the river, driving the Austrian General, Clerfayt, before him until he reached the Main.

General Wurmser, with the other Austrian army, aided by the Prince de Conde's corps of emigris_t which was still farther south, and based on Baden, had m the meantime been holding Pichegru. But in Brussels, Roger had learned that on the day he had reached London, September the 20th, Pichegru had captured Mannheim; so he too was across the Rhine and it now looked as if the two French armies were about to form a junction which might prove disastrous for the Austrians.

It was this new move of Pichegru's, indicating so clearly that the last thing he had in mind at the moment was to march his army on Paris, that had determined Roger now to regard his mission as of the utmost urgency. Had this not been so he would have proceeded north, into Holland, then made a great detour through the still peaceful states well to the east of the Rhine, and so reached Baden without having to enter any area so far affected by the war, but that would have taken him the best part of a week. The alternative was to go via Namur, Luxemburg and Saarbrucken direct to the Upper Rhine opposite Baden and find some means to cross the river there. As the whole of the territory through which he must pass was in the hands of the French, that meant his having to chance some unfortunate encounter and, in the last phase, possibly being shot at as he attempted to cross the river; but as the journey could be accomplished by driving all out in two days, he felt that these risks were worth taking.

He found it easy to slip back into the role of a Republican Com­missioner; and, by a combination of a confident, authoritative manner coupled with lavish tips to his two Belgian coachmen and the ostlers who changed the horses at the posting-houses, he kept the coach moving at a very satisfactory pace. On the second afternoon, as he neared the Rhine, he was several times challenged by patrols of French troops; but fortunately none of them knew that the Citizen Com­missioner Breuc had fled from Paris fourteen months before, and after a cursory glance at his old papers, they accepted his statement that he was on his way to General Pichegru's headquarters.

Wissembourg, which lay on the-west bank of the Rhine, almost opposite Baden, had been used by Pichegru as his headquarters throughout the summer; so, although he had recently moved north, the town was still cluttered up with a large part of his baggage train and many officers of the administrative services. Seeing this as his coach entered the narrow streets, Roger decided to try to pick up as much information as he could about the progress of the new offensive before planning his attempt to cross the river that night.

It was as well that he did so, for events had been moving fast during the past few days. Thanks to his impeccable French, some officers at an hotel at which he pulled up readily accepted his invitation to join him in a glass of wine, and proved eager to acquaint him with the latest news. Gaily they described how the capture of Mannheim had thrown the whole of south-west Germany into a panic, and how both the Landgrave of Darmstadt and the Margrave of Baden were reported to have fled from their capitals.

If the last report were true, and Roger had to regard it as at least probable, it meant that the Prince de Cond6 would also have hurriedly evacuated Baden; so to attempt a clandestine crossing of the river there would now be to run a pointless risk. In these altered circum­stances, with the Prince's whereabouts no longer known to him, Roger felt that his best plan would be to take the road north into the area where both banks of the Rhine were held by the French; as, with luck, he might then be able to cross it openly in his coach, the retention of which would prove invaluable to him while searching for the Prince's new headquarters.

Accordingly, he bade the officers a cheerful farewell, and collecting his two Belgian coachmen from the tap-room took them outside.

They were employees of the owner of the coach and responsible to him for its safe return, but had contracted only to take Roger to the left bank of the Rhine, opposite Baden. He now put it to them that he wished to keep the coach on for two or three days, and that if they would continue with him, obeying his orders without question, and keeping their mouths shut whatever they might see or hear, he would reward them by giving them a letter which would enable them to claim the considerable deposit he had paid on the coach when they got back with it to Brussels.

At first the men showed some hesitation, but on Roger's producing a purse full of gold coins and giving them ten thalers apiece as a bonus in hand, they agreed. So as dusk was falling the coach took the road that ran parallel with the river towards Mannheim.

A three-hour drive brought it opposite to the city. There Roger learned that during the assault the stone bridge had been too severely damaged by cannon fire to be safe for vehicles; but the French Engineers had since succeeded in throwing a pontoon bridge across for military traffic. Again he told his story, that he had urgent business with General Pichegru, and once more, their suspicions lulled by this bold assertion, a guard who had halted the coach allowed it to proceed.

Roger had been told by the guard that the General had installed himself in the Rathaus but, after crossing the bridge, instead of follow­ing the directions the guard had given him to find it, Roger told his coachmen to take the first turning they came to on the right, and to keep on going until they were clear of the city.

All went well until they reached its outskirts. There a man in the middle of the road swinging a lantern called on them to halt, and from a barrier a few yards behind him a sergeant approached the coach.

Before the N.C.O. had a chance to open his mouth, Roger thrust his head out of the window of the coach, and shouted: "I am a surgeon! General Pichegru's nephew has been wounded out in front there, and the General has despatched me to do my best for him. Open the barrier! Lose not a moment; the young man's life may depend upon it."

The ruse got them through, and the coach had hardly halted before it was on the move again.

Having reason to believe that the battle was still fluid, in which case no continuous line would yet have been formed in front of Mannheim, Roger now hoped that under cover of darkness he might make his way between the various French units, most of whom at this hour would be sleeping in their bivouacs, without further challenge; but in that he was disappointed.

Some three miles from the city they were again called on to halt, and this time the N.C.O. in charge of the patrol did not swallow Roger's story so readily. He said that he knew of no units farther advanced than his own, and demanded to see the traveller's papers.

Having committed himself, Roger's only possible course was to maintain his bluff and intensify it Sharply he told the man that when a valued life hung in the balance one did not wait for special papers before setting out to save it, and that if he could not tell a good French­man from a foreigner he did not deserve to serve under so great a soldier as General Pichegru; then he let forth a spate of filth and obscenity couched in the argot of the Paris gutters that he had picked up during the months when he had himself lived as one of the sans­culottes.

Reeling under the impact, and with all his suspicions dissipated, the N.C.O. waved the coach on. Yet he did so shaking his head and muttering uneasily: "Have your own way then, Citizen; but I know of no units forward of us, and if you go on for more than a mile or two you'll like as not find yourself in the hands of the enemy."

That was precisely what Roger hoped, and his hopes were fulfilled. Next time a call came for the coach to halt it was in a strange tongue, and a moment later it was surrounded by a vedette of Moravian Hussars. Finding it impossible to make himself fully understood, Roger fished out from under the thick turn-up of his cuff, the envelope containing his British passport, waved it beneath the sergeant's nose and pointed vigorously towards the rear of the Austrian position.

The coach was then sent on under escort for a mile or more to a farmhouse, from which there emerged a haggard-looking officer who spoke a little German. Using such stilted phrases of that tongue as he could put together Roger asked to be taken to the nearest headquarters, and with its escort the coach moved on through the darkness.

An hour later it drew up in front of a country house, in one of the ground floor rooms of which a light was burning. Roger was led inside and found the night-duty officer there to be a young exquisite dressed in a uniform of blue and silver with a sable-trimmed half cloak, and whiskers in the new fashion, very similar to his own.

To him Roger presented his passport, which carried the name of MacElfic, and told him that he was en mission from his Prime Minister to the Prince de Cond6. The young man immediately became all politeness and offered to put him up for the night; but on Roger's replying that his mission was urgent, the Austrian promised to provide him with a guide, a change of horses and a new escort; and, in the meantime, sent an orderly for food and wine.

Three-quarters of an hour later, pleasantly fortified, Roger was on his way again; but the guide did not know the exact whereabouts of the Prince's new headquarters, only that they were somewhere in the neighbourhood of Heilbronn; so on reaching that area numerous enquiries had to be made, until they were at last located some five miles from the town in a castle to which a modern wing had been added.

Roger arrived there at eight o'clock in the morning, on the fourth day after he had landed on the Belgian coast In seventy-six hours he had traversed some four hundred and fifty miles of roads which, as the time included all waits while changing horses, gave the highly satisfactory average of just under six miles an hour. But he had even more reason to be pleased that after his quarry's flight from Baden he had had the good luck to get safely through the battle zone and locate him again with so little delay.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he climbed stiffly out of the coach, walked past a sentry up to the main entrance to the Schloss and asked the servant who was on duty in its porch to ask his master to receive a messenger who had arrived with urgent despatches for him from England. The footman gave his dirty, travel-stained figure one supercilious glance, and replied haughtily:

''His Royal Highness does not receive couriers. At the east door you will find someone who will accept delivery of your despatch, and doubtless it will be placed before His Royal Highness by the proper person when His Royal Highness returns from the hunt"

Roger's blue eyes suddenly blazed with anger. It was bad enough that at this crisis in the war the Commander of the Royalist Army should have gone out hunting, but to be subjected to insolence from his servants was intolerable. Lifting his jack-booted right foot, Roger brought its heel down with all his force on the footman's toes, and snarled:

"Go, fellow, this instant; and find someone of rank to attend me!"

The man let out a howl of pain, staggered back and, whimpering loudly, limped swiftly towards the doorway of die castle.

He was met in it by another footman and a senior servant in black clothes, who had come running at his shout. As he sobbed out the cause of his woe the others cast angry, frightened glances at Roger, then they helped their weeping companion through into the hall, slamming the door behind them.

Some three minutes later a very fat priest, with the voluminous skirts of his cassock swirling about his short legs, came puffing out into the porch. Roger made him a polite bow, and, now taking pains to use indifferent French, in keeping with his new role, introduced himself as Mr. Robert MacElfic, adding that he was the personal emissary of His Britannic Majesty's Prime Minister.

At that the priest's chubby face instantly lost its look of apprehen­sion. Raising his plump hands, he exclaimed: "Then you come from our second Father on Earth! I will have that oaf caned for his lack of respect to you. I am the Abbé Chenier, His Royal Highness's secretary. Welcome; thrice welcome. Be pleased to come in."

This was much more the style in which Roger had expected to be greeted, and he was by no means surprised to hear Mr. Pitt referred to as the second Father on Earth of the emigris, as that gentleman had furnished him with particulars of their misfortunes. During the early years of the Revolution numerous German Princes had in turn received them most hospitably, but as their own resources had dwindled and their numbers had increased to several thousand they had proved too great a burden on their not very wealthy hosts. The Austrians had then accepted responsibility for them, but only to the extent of furnishing twelve cents and one loaf of munition bread per man per day, which was what they gave their own troops.

In consequence, by the previous winter they had been reduced to positive destitution. Even the Prince's household had had to live on coarse soldier's fare, and to keep them from freezing his mistress, the Princess of Monaco, had sold her last jewels to buy firewood. From this desperate situation they had been rescued by Mr. Pitt, who at the instigation of Montgalliard had arranged for them a British loan of three and a half million francs. How much of the money had stuck to the villainous Count's fingers could only be guessed, but it was no wonder that, after the Pope, they regarded Mr. Pitt as their 'Father on Earth'.

Murmuring that the footman had already been punished enough for his stupidity, Roger followed the Abbé across a lofty banqueting hall and through some corridors in the new wing of the castle to a small room that had a pleasant view across distant forest-covered slopes. After fussily seating Roger in an easy chair, the Abbé sat down behind a table covered with papers and enquired about his journey.

Roger confined himself to saying that it had been tiring but un­eventful until he had entered the battle zone the previous night, and that he had been lucky enough to get through without serious trouble. Then he asked when the Prince could be expected back.

"Soon after midday, Monsieur," replied the Abbé. "We have been through terrible times—terrible times; and it was too bad that; having established ourselves in reasonably comfortable quarters, we should again have been driven from them by the advance of these Godless revolutionaries. But we have been fortunate in the Graf von Hildersheim's, who owns this Schloss, placing it at His Royal Highness's disposal. The Herr Grafs forests are well stocked with game and he keeps a pack of boar-hounds; so His Royal Highness can hardly be expected to deny himself the pleasures of the chase while he is here. But he will be back in good time for dinner. By the by, pray forgive the enquiry, but are you of gentle birth?"

⁴ My mother was titled and the daughter of an earl," Roger told him, suppressing a cynical little smile at the question.

"Good! Good! That is most fortunate; as otherwise we should not be able to have you with us at dinner in His Royal Highness's salon. The preservation of a proper etiquette has become all the more important since the world began to tumble about our ears. Now, perhaps you will be good enough to inform me of the business that as brought you here."

"It is a matter for His Royal Highness's personal consideration; so I fear that I must defer speaking of it until his return."

"Your discretion is admirable, Monsieur," wheezed the Abbé. "But I give you my word that I am privy to all His Royal Highness's secrets."

"Then," replied Roger smoothly, "no doubt he will invite you to be present when I submit Mr. Pitt's proposals to him. However, there is another matter of some urgency which I should like to deal with. I bear a letter for M. le Comte de Montgalliard."

The Abbé nodded. "The Count is not addicted to the chase; so he should be in the castle somewhere. I will have him sought-for."

When, in response to the ringing of a handbell, a footman had appeared and been given the order. Roger asked that his two coach­men should be looked after and his coach and horses stabled. He had not intended it as a hint, but apparently the Abbé took it as such; for he quickly added that a meal and a room were to be prepared for the Chevalier MacElfic.

As soon as the man had gone Roger slit open the lining of his coat and took from their hiding-place the papers with which Lord Grenville had furnished him. Having put his credentials and the letters of credit in his pocket, he retained the missive for Montgalliard in his hand. A few minutes later the Count entered the room.

With his heavy black eyebrows, thick nose and sallow skin, he looked like a Portuguese Jew; but his manner was brisk and on being introduced his face lit up with a deceptively frank smile that anyone would have thought charming.

When Roger handed him the letter he asked permission to open it, skimmed quickly through its single paragraph, and said: "I see Mr. Pitt desires me to pay another visit to England, and at once. Have you any idea about what it is that he wishes to see me?"

"I gathered the impression," lied Roger glibly, "that he is anxious lest His Royal Highness should become embarrassed for funds with which to maintain his army throughout the winter; so has it in mind to arrange well in advance another loan through you."

"Our second Father on Earth," murmured the Abbé, his fat face creasing into an unctuous smile, "our second Father on Earth. What a good man he is! Our Father in Heaven will surely reward him." But Roger was watching the Count, and saw at once that he had swallowed the bait.

Taking a fat bejewelled watch from his fob, he glanced at it and said to the Abbé: "It would ill become me to delay in obeying the summons of our Preserver. I can be packed by ten o'clock; and if I leave soon after shall reach Wurzburg in time to lie there tonight on my way up to Hanover. Should I then be lucky in catching a ship about to sail from one of the ports, I'll be in England in little more than a week. Seeing the nature of the business I am going upon, I feel confident that His Royal Highness will pardon me for not having lingered to kiss his hand. Be kind enough, Abbé, to explain and make my devoirs for me."

"Gladly, my son." The Abbé raised a hand in blessing. "May God be with you in this worthy undertaking."

As Roger watched Montgalliard bow, flash a swift smile at them, then stride from the room, he thought how fortunate it was that the Count, like himself, was no man to let the grass grow under his feet. True, his making for Hamburg or Bremen showed that, despite his long experience as a secret agent, he preferred to lose three or four days rather than take the risk of travelling through enemy-held territory. But Roger was concerned only to get rid of him, and for that, clearly, nothing could have served better than leading him to believe that he had sniffed British gold.

For some ten minutes the Abbé and Roger talked about the war, then the black-clad groom-of-the-chambers appeared to announce that a tray had been set for Roger in the small library. The Abbé said that after his meal he would no doubt like to rest, and that he would have him called as soon as His Royal Highness got back from the chase; so with the usual expression of politeness they took temporary leave of one another.

As Roger sat down to a belated breakfast of cold roebuck and a half bottle of Moselle, he said to the servant: "When I have eaten I shall go to my room. Have ready, for me there a hip-bath and plenty of hot water; also a valet to take and brush my clothes. Be diligent in this, for as I think you saw a while back I am not accustomed to being kept waiting."

He would never normally have used such a tone in a house where he was a guest, but having been given only cold meat and a half bottle of wine riled him; and as Britain was paying the bills for the household he was in no mind to be treated as a person of no consequence by its servants.

In due course the man took him up to a small, chill room in the old part of the castle, but apologized for that, remarking that it was the best of the few remaining unoccupied; and as all Roger's other wishes had been attended to he accepted this new concern for his welfare graciously.

After bathing and shaving the ball of his chin, he lay down on the bed. It was the first time for four days that he had been able to do more than doze while subjected to a rocking or jolting motion; so almost instantly he fell asleep.

Some three hours later the valet woke him, helped him to dress, then led him down to a pair of double doors giving on to the first of a suite of large lofty rooms, and there handed him over to the Abbé Chenier. The first room was an ante-chamber, the second a big salon in which a score or more ladies and gentlemen were conversing. Nodding his way ingratiatingly through them, the grossly fat priest piloted Roger to the big doors at the end of the room, and, opening one just widely enough to squeeze through, drew him into a spacious bedroom.

The Prince had evidently been changing in it after the hunt, and was now holding his petit levee. He was still only in silk stockings, breeches and shirt, while his buckled shoes, flowered waistcoat, and coat were being held by three of a small semi-circle of noblemen who stood deferentially by.

Roger remembered seeing him several times at Versailles, and thought that six years had not changed him much, except to emphasize still further his protuberant blue eyes, sloping forehead and fleshy, hooked nose, which were such marked features in all the Bourbon Princes.

On catching sight of him the Prince at once beckoned him forward and, with a toothy smile, extended his right hand. Roger duly kissed it and presented the letter from Lord Grenville. Throwing it unopened on the bed de Condé exclaimed:

"Twill be time enough for us to attend to business when we have dined! The Abbé Chenier tells me that you have brought us excellent news. That dear Mr. Pitt is already thinking of our winter comfort Such tidings are introduction enough. You have no idea, Chevalier, how we suffered last winter. The river frozen, the horses dying in the stables, and ourselves with not enough cheese in the larder to tempt a hungry mouse. You are welcome, most welcome. After France your generous nation will ever be nearest to my heart."

As Roger murmured his thanks and bowed himself away, he wondered a little uneasily if Mr. Pitt would, in due course, furnish the funds he had invented to get rid of Montgalliard. He was inclined to hope so, as one could not but pity these people, all of whom had been born to riches and since been robbed of everything; yet their evident petty jealousy, as they each endeavoured to draw the Prince's attention to themselves, and preoccupation with the necessities of an outmoded etiquette made him secretly despise them.

Of the latter he was to have further evidence when they went down to dinner. Had he arrived at the Court of Russia, the old Empress Catherine, for all her vast dominions, would have had him sit next to her; so that she might the sooner hear the latest news out of England. So, too, in his day would have the late Gustavus of Sweden, the Stadtholder of Holland and even Queen Caroline of Naples; but the Bourbon Princes in exile still considered that it would be demeaning themselves to have any but the bearers of ancient names near them at table. Roger found himself placed near its bottom, between another Abbé and a nephew of the Marquis de Bouille. Both were pleasant men and the Abbé talked interestingly on the ways in which the Revolution had affected the numerous independent Prince-Bishoprics that peppered the Rhineland, but Roger was glad when the meal was over.

Soon afterwards the Abbé Chenier drew Roger aside and introduced him into the Prince's cabinet. De Cond6 was already there and had just opened Grenville's letter. It would have been contrary to etiquette for him to invite them to sit down; so looking up at Roger, he said:

"This expresses only his lordship's willingness to serve us, and states that you will convey Mr. Pitt's views to us on certain matters. Fire away then, and let us hear everything with which that most excellent of Ministers has charged you.

Roger at once launched into the subject of Pichegru, but after a moment the Prince cut him short by exclaiming to the Abbé: "Ah, how unfortunate that de Montgalliard has already left! He knew far more of the ins and outs of this business than anyone else; and I am at a loss to see how we are to reopen negotiations with this traitor General without him.''

"My instructions are," said Roger quietly; "that, subject to your Royal Highness's permission, I should now take over the negotiations with General Pichegru myself."

De Condé gave a slight shrug. "Since that is your Prime Minister's wish, by all means do so. Are you acquainted with the fellow?"

"No, Monseigneur. But that is of little importance, provided that you will make quite clear to me your intentions towards him. May I ear from your own lips the price you are prepared to pay him tor marching his army on Paris and restoring the monarchy?"

The lavish list of rewards that Roger had had from Mr. Pitt was promptly reeled off by the Prince, who added with an ugly chuckle: "In the Chateau of Chambord there is an excellent oubliette. I hope he falls down it when drunk one night, and breaks his dirty neck."

To Roger the wish seemed a miserably mean one, seeing that only as a result of Pichegru's staking his own life and honour could the thousands of people who had fled from France hope to return home, and have some prospect of regaining at least a part of their former possessions. Ignoring the remark, he asked:

"Has your Royal Highness sent these promises to the General in writing?"

"Mort dieu, no!" The Bourbon's pale blue eyes popped. "The word of a Condé is enough."

"Permit me to observe, Monseigneur, that in this instance you are not dealing with a gentleman."

"Oh! Ah! Well! Yes! I see your point, Chevalier. If you wish, then, I will give you written particulars of the proffered bribe."

"I thank your Royal Highness. And now," went on Roger—for this most delicate of questions sliding behind the shadow of Mr. Pitt—"as a matter of form my master charged me to enquire if you, Monseigneur, had authority from His Royal Highness the Comte de Provence to offer these terms?"

"You refer to His Most Christian Majesty King Louis XVIII," the Prince replied with sudden sharpness.

For a moment Roger was taken aback. He knew that young King Louis XVII was dead, and he had told Amanda how the boy had died; but he had the most excellent reasons for supposing that they were the only people in the world who possessed that knowledge. De Condé's sharp rebuke must mean that, although Mr. Pitt had omitted to tell him of it, the child in the Temple, whom only Barras. Fouché, and perhaps now a few others, knew to have been substituted for the little King, had also died. Recovering himself, he said hastily:

"Your pardon, Monseigneur. In England we have been used for so long to refer to His Majesty by his former tide."

The Prince shrugged. "No matter. Your slip was understandable and you may set your master's mind at rest about my powers. For reasons of health His Majesty is now at Mitau, on the Baltic, and 'Monsieur’ his brother at present has only a small force under him in the island of Yen, off the coast of Brittany. Therefore, as Commander-in-Chief of the Royal and Catholic Army, I have been invested by His Majesty with full authority to act in his name, and use any and every means seeming good to me which may assist in restoring his dominions to him."

Roger bowed. "Then it remains, Monseigneur, only for me to ask when the Comte de Montgalliard had his last interview with General Pichegru, and the outcome of it?"

De Condé guffawed and the Abbé gave a wheezy titter. Then the former said: "The Count was far too wily a bird to go poking his own head into such a hornet's nest as a Republican headquarters. He employed a Swiss named Fauche-Borel to do his dirty work for him. You know the Count's cat's-paw better than I, Abbé. Tell the Chevalier about him."

His great paunch wobbling with laughter, the Abbé proceeded. "Fauche-Borel is a common little man who has made a modest fortune as a bookseller in Neuchatel. He is the veriest snob that ever was born, and his one ambition is to hob-nob with the aristocracy. The Revolution gave him his opportunity. Many persons of quality took refuge over the Swiss border, and by trading on their urgent need of money Fauche-Borel ingratiated himself with a number of them. How de Montgalliard came across him I do not know; but the Count brought him here and, after making His Royal Highness privy to the use to which he was to be put, asked that he should be received. On being permitted to kiss the hand of a Prince of the Blood, he nearly fainted with emotion; but it made him our willing slave, and it is he who on several occasions has gone through the enemy lines to discuss matters personally with General Pichegru."

Roger would have given a lot to have said: 'You dirty cowards; how dare you, on account of his simplicity, despise this brave little man', but disciplined tact of years restrained him; and, keeping the cold contempt from his voice with an effort, he asked: "Where is this person now?"

"As far as I know, he is in Paris," replied the Abbé. "I gathered that General Pichegru asked him to go there and endeavour to find out what support might be expected for a counter revolutionary movement by the Army."

That was bad news for Roger, as it confirmed the reason Mr. Pitt had given for Pichegru's hesitation in declaring his adherence to the Royalist cause, and meant that he, Roger, would probably have to follow Fauche-Borel to the capital on a similar mission, as the only means of bringing about the conditions which would induce the General to act. Still thinking about the Swiss bookseller, he muttered:

"As well send a sheep into a den of lions." Then he added more briskly: "However, that is none of my business. If your Royal Highness will be good enough to append your own signature to a document stating the terms of the offer to Pichegru, I will set out this evening on an attempt to carry it to him."

The Prince yawned, belched mildly, stood up and said: "Draw up the document now, Abbé, append my seal to it and bring it up

to my bedroom. I am weary after the chase and must have my rest, but will sign it before I sleep." Turning his protuberant blue eyes on Roger, he went on: "I regret that you should have to leave us so soon, Chevalier; but it is in a good cause, and I trust your absence will be only temporary. I shall pray for your safety and success; and can assure you that we shall all be a-dither with anxiety until we can make you doubly welcome on your return."

Roger let the glib lies flow over him, and again kissed the beringed hand that the Prince extended. Whatever his luck with Pichegru, he had no intention of returning to anyone except, God willing, Mr. Pitt and, in due course, Amanda. Two hours later he drove away from the Schloss in his coach, soberly aware that the really dangerous part of his mission had now begun.

chapter XIX

THE TREACHERY OF GENERAL PICHEGRU

Although Roger had given the Abbé Chenier the impression that he meant to penetrate the enemy lines that night, he did not mean to do so. For one thing he was badly in need of .a good night's sleep, and felt that, urgent as coming to an understanding with General Pichegru might be, the delay of a few hours would be more than compensated for by renewed freshness when he entered Mannheim and would need all his wits about him.

Had the atmosphere at de Condé's headquarters been more con­genial to him he would have slept there; but the sight of the servile nobles and unctuous priests had so sickened him that solitude at a wayside inn seemed definitely preferable.

He had also to rid himself of his coach and the two coachmen. Although most Belgians had now become antagonistic towards the French owing to the extortions inflicted on them by the Republican Commissioners, when first the so-called 'Army of Liberation' had invaded the country, the masses in the towns had received them with open arms; and Roger had no means of knowing for certain whether his two men were ardent revolutionaries or reactionaries. True, they had not betrayed him when he had pretended to be a doctor in order to get through the French outposts, but if left either at the Schloss or m Mannheim they might have endangered his future operations by gossiping, in the one case about his use of fluent French while posmg as Citizen Breuc on the journey from Brussels, and in the other by letting out that he had been at the headquarters of the emigris; so the best means of insuring against both these eventualities was to pay them off at some lonely place on the road, where he could also sleep.

The Abbé" had provided him with a laissez-passer; so he had no difficulty with the occasional patrols of Austrians in the back areas who challenged the poach, and four hours of good driving brought them to the little town of Sinsheim. As it was by then ten o'clock, he began to look out for a likely place in which to spend the night, and a few miles beyond the town, on the crest of a long slope up which the horses had had to be walked, they came to a fair-sized inn.

It was in darkness; but getting out, he knocked up the landlord: a fat German who came down and opened the door. Roger asked him if he had a bedroom free, and a riding horse he could sell in the morning.

The man said that he was welcome to a room, but a horse was another matter. For the past week the Austrians had been com­mandeering every horse to be had in those parts, and three days before had taken all four of the horses he had had in his stable.

Realizing that enquiries elsewhere were unlikely to have better results, Roger decided to use the off-lead from the team drawing the coach; but he said nothing about that for the moment, simply telling the Belgians that he meant to lie at the inn for the night and that after they had drunk as much beer as they wanted they could for once enjoy a long sleep. As they had slept most of the day they were now less tired than he was, but ample beer and a snug corner in a hay-loft over their animals was to them a pleasant enough prospect, so they thanked him and drove the coach into the yard of the inn.

At six o'clock Roger woke after an excellent night, dressed and went downstairs to find the landlord already about; so he asked him for pen and paper, and if he could sell him a saddle. The man produced the writing materials from a cupboard and said that he had several saddles so would be willing to part with one for a fair price.

While breakfast was being prepared Roger wrote out an instruction to the owner of the coach to pay to the two coachmen the big deposit he had left on it; then, after making a good meal, accompanied by the landlord, he went out to the stable. Some gold pieces soon induced the Belgians to surrender the off-lead horse, and he added a handsome pourboire to the chit entitling them to the deposit; so the parting was effected with goodwill on both sides.

By seven-thirty he was on his way to Mannheim, with the small valise strapped to the back of his saddle. In addition to the few things he had bought in Brussels, it now contained the uniform of a private in the émigré army, which he had asked the Abbé Chenier to provide for him after their talk with de Grade" the previous afternoon.

His return through the war zone was almost devoid of risk, as the units of both armies were scattered over a wide area, and even when he got to within a few miles of Mannheim he heard only the occasional shots of snipers in the distance. The sight of his laissez-passer was enough for the Austrian pickets to wave him on, then when he came to the French he told the simple truth—that he was on his way to General Pichegru—and taking him for a Frenchman they directed him towards the city.

He entered it at one o'clock in the afternoon, stabled his horse at the Drei Konige and took an attic there, which, owing to the crowded state of the town, was the best the hotel could do for him. In it he changed into the emigre uniform, put on his long, dark multi-caped coat over it, then went downstairs, wrote a brief note, slipped it into his pocket and walked along to the Rathaus.

There were sentries on its entrances, but evidently only as a formality, for among the officers constantly going in and out there was an occasional civilian, and none of them was being challenged. All the same Roger knew that once inside he might very well come out of it as a prisoner on his way to be shot; so he had to make a conscious effort to appear entirely carefree as he ran up the steps and walked through its main door.

In the stone-flagged hall beyond, a sergeant stopped him and asked his business. With an indignant air he declared that he, a citizen of the glorious French Republic, had been cheated and insulted the night before in a brothel, and had come to demand that the dirty Germans who ran the place should be taught a lesson.

This was a complaint with which the sergeant could sympathize, and he directed Roger up a staircase to the right, saying that he would find the Provost-Marshal's office on the second floor. Roger had felt confident that it would be somewhere in the building, but he had no intention of going to it. On reaching the first floor he turned right along the principal corridor, hoping that now he was free to roam the place he would be able to locate the General without having actually to ask for him.

Pichegru's headquarters bore not the faintest resemblance to de Condé. Here there were no lackeys, no priests, no respectful hush at the approach of prominent personalities. The place was as busy as a bee-hive, and it was the constant bustle of officers, clerks and orderlies hurrying to and fro which enabled Roger to move about quite freely without risk of being questioned further.

After a time he came upon a minstrel's gallery which overlooked the great hall in the centre of the building. It was obviously there that in times of peace the wealthier merchants of Mannheim periodically gorged themselves at civic banquets; but it had now been turned into a huge mess. Here again, in striking contrast to His Royal Highness's dinners, duly announced by a gentleman who rapped sharply with a rod on the parquet floor of a salon, and served to the minute each day, there was no trace whatever of formality. The service appeared to be in perpetual session; officers, some clean and others filthy, marched in and plumped themselves down where they would, the waiters put plates piled high with food in front of them, they ate voraciously, often not even exchanging a word with their neighbours, then marched out again.

Here and there among them was a civilian official, and it was their presence which caused Roger his greatest anxiety. At the Schloss he ad stood within a few feet of three noblemen with whom he had been acquainted in the past, and a fourth whom he had been instrumental in saving from the guillotine; but a combination of his false name, changed appearance and the execrable French he had then been using deliberately, had protected him from recognition. Whereas now, should he come face to face with one of his ex-colleagues of the Revolution, he would have to rely solely on his moustache and whiskers.

Worse still, many of them had seen him about Paris for far longer than he had been known to any of the Prince de Condé's gentlemen, and he had reason to believe that there were at least two men at this headquarters whom he had special reason to dread. They were the Citizens Rewbell and Merlin of Thionville, two out of the three Représentants en Mission, sent by the Convention to keep an eye on Pichegru, and with both of whom Roger had sat on Committee.

For a long time he sat up in a corner of the deserted gallery watching the scene in the banqueting hall below, and feeling certain that sooner or later the General would come in to have a meal there. At length, at close on five o'clock, his patience was rewarded. A tall, handsome man in his early thirties came swaggering in with Citizen Merlin beside him and followed by half a dozen other officers. From the cir­cumstances of his arrival and the description Roger had received, he knew at once that the tall officer must be Pichegru.

It was now that the greatest risk had to be run, as Roger might just as well not have come there unless he could obtain a private interview with the General, and he could see no way to succeed in that without disclosing that he was acting as the Prince de Condi's agent If, as seemed quite possible from Pichegru's sudden advance on Mannheim, he had come to the conclusion that Montgalliard and Fauche-Borel were untrustworthy, or if one of the Représentants en Mission was given the least cause for suspicion, the game would be up as far as Roger was concerned, and, ten to one, for good. But it would have been contrary to his nature to back out now; so, drawing a deep breath, he stood up, then made his way downstairs.

Owing to the constant coming and going in the big hall, he attracted no attention when he came into it by one of its side entrances and took up a position near to a service door that gave on to the kitchen. In his hand he had, folded into a small thick triangle, the note he had written at the Drei Konige, and a twenty mark piece. As the waiter who. had been serving the General came by he plucked the man by the sleeve, gave him a quick glimpse of the coin and the note, and said in a low voice:

"I am a tradesman anxious to secure a share of the General's patronage. Do me the favour to give him this."

The man hesitated only a moment, then with a sudden grin he stuck the note in his cuff and pocketed the gold.

When he next emerged from the kitchen, carrying another load of platters, Roger followed his movements with a heavily pounding heart. He saw him place the note beside the General's plate, but for what seemed an eternity Pichegru did not appear to have even noticed it. At last he picked it up, opened it, and read the few lines that Roger had written, which ran:

Citizen General,

I am a partner in the firm of Fauche-Borel, booksellers and printers. I crave the distinction of being permitted to print such proclamations as Your Excellency may desire to issue to the people of Mannheim and its adjacent territories.

The die was cast. The name Fauche-Borel could not fail to register in the General's mind. In another minute he might order the arrest of the sender of the note or make an assignation with him.

As Roger watched he saw Citizen Representative Merlin lean towards Pichegru. There could be little doubt that he was enquiring the contents of the note, which, in his capacity as one of the Convention's watch-dogs, he was fully empowered to do.

It was at that moment that Roger saw Rewbell join the group. His heart seemed to jump into his throat, for Jean-Francois Rewbell was one of the old gang who had survived the fall of Robespierre. An Alsatian by birth, he had started life as a lawyer, had soon become a fanatical revolutionary, and had advocated many of the most ruthless measures of the Terror. He had already sent two Army Commanders back to Paris to be guillotined, and his shrewd, suspicious mind made him an expert at smelling out treachery.

To Roger's momentary relief the three men laughed at something one of them had said. Then Pichegru beckoned to the waiter who had brought the note. They both looked in Roger's direction, and the waiter began to walk towards him. His mouth went dry and again he was seized with near panic. Rewbell or Merlin might have found out that Fauche-Borel was a Royalist agent. If so Pichegru would have had no option but to save his own skin by sacrificing the bookseller's colleague. Perhaps they had laughed at the idea of his presenting himself there to be led out and shot There was still time to turn, slip through the nearest entrance and make a bolt for it Even with so short a lead, among the maze of staircases and corridors he might succeed in eluding pursuit and perhaps in the attics find a hiding-place until darkness increased his chance of getting away from the building unrecognized. His palms were moist and his feet itched to be on the move; but with a great effort of will he stood his ground until the waiter came up to him and said:

"The General says that if you'll wait in the outer hall, he'll try to find time to see you later."

Suppressing a gasp of relief, and still too internally wrought up to trust himself to speak, Roger nodded; then made his way out of the great noisy chamber.

When he reached a low archway that gave on to the hall, he looked anxiously through it; and was much relieved to see that the sergeant to whom he had told his story about the brothel had been relieved by another. Stationing himself in an out-of-the-way corner and taking out his handkerchief, he mopped his face with it. Gradually the beating of his heart eased and he tried to. persuade himself that his worst danger was over. But he could not be certain of that, as now that the offensive was going so well Pichegru might have decided against declaring for the Royalists, and, if he wished to strengthen his position with Rewball, the turning over of an émigré agent to a firing squad would be a cheap way of earning himself a good mark.

The time of waiting seemed to Roger interminable, and actually it was over two hours before a club-footed private came down the wide staircase opposite the main door, limped up to him, and asked;

"Are you the Citizen printer?"

On Roger replying that he was, the soldier took him upstairs to a suite of rooms on the second floor. The first was an ante-chamber and had the General's military equipment scattered about it. Pointing to a chair there, the soldier told him to sit down, and taking up a jack­boot set to work polishing it.

Through an open doorway Roger could see the bedroom, which he guessed to be normally used by the Mayors of Mannheim when in residence at the Rathaus. It was furnished with a vast bed and other heavy, ugly pieces, and Roger could well imagine that many a fat German City Father had fallen into a drunken slumber there after doing the honours in the banqueting hall below.

Still racked with anxiety about what might follow his coming interview with Pichegru, Roger endured a further twenty minutes' wait; then, at last, the General strode into the room.

Charles Pichegru was the son of a labourer, but had been educated by the Church and sent to the military school at Brienne, after which he had become an artillery officer. The Revolution had given him his chance and he was one of the most brilliant Generals it had produced. After successful campaigns in '93 and '94 his conquest of Holland the preceding winter had made him the most outstanding of them all. He was a tail, fine looking man, possessed of enormous physical strength, and was now thirty-four.

Giving Roger a penetrating glance, he motioned him into the bed­room, followed him in, told his man that on no account was he to be disturbed, and swung the door shut.

"Now!’ he said without preamble. "Had your approach to me been only a little less subtle I would have had you taken straight out to a firing squad; and I may yet do so. Fauche-Borel has already endangered me more than enough by forcing himself upon me with wild-cat schemes that lack any concrete backing, and when last I saw him I told him if he pestered me again I would have him shot."

It was far from being a propitious opening, but Roger was on his mettle now and replied with a calmness that he was far from feeling: "Citizen General, 'tis because it has been realized in the highest quarters that Fauche-Borel was incompetent to handle such business lat I have been selected to replace him. I bring you a firm under­taking from His Royal Highness the Prince de Conde!'

The General's eyes narrowed slightly, and he asked: "Do you mean that the Prince has actually put his hand to the terms that I supposed Fauche-Borel to have invented in the hope of gulling me into declaring for the Royalists?"

"That I cannot say, but if these are they I scarcely think you can regard them as ungenerous." As Roger spoke he handed over the list of bribes that the Abbé Chenier had had signed by de Condé.

After reading slowly through them, Pichegru looked up and said: "These differ from those offered by Fauche-Borel only in that the sum to be paid in cash has been doubled."

Roger smiled. "Fauche-Borel acted only as the cat's-paw of a rogue named Montgalliard. It was he who inspired these negotiations, and as he handles many of de Condi's transactions, no doubt he counted on being nominated to make the payment, which would have enabled him to keep half the money for himself."

Sitting down in a huge arm-chair, Pichegru murmured: "The Prince's having sent me this document puts a very different complexion on matters."

"Then may I take it that you agree the terms?"

"I know not. I must think. Upon my decision depends the whole future of my country."

"Do you accept and act with vigour, it will make you, after the King, the most powerful man in France."

"I am already near that; and need no help from the Royalists to elevate myself still further. By marching on Paris I could have myself proclaimed Dictator."

"Perhaps; but what of the war in the meantime? Did you turn your army about, the Austrians would be back over the Rhine and hot upon your heels. Only by entering into this pact could you prevent them doing so."

The General shook his head. "Nay, you are in error there. As I hold your life in my hands, I see no reason why I should not speak frankly to you. General Jourdan's army has reached the north bank of the Necker. I have only to make the dash on Heidelberg, which I have been preparing for these past few days, to join up with him. With our combined forces we shall far outnumber either of the Austrian armies. 'Twill be child's-play for us first to defeat Wurmser, then Clerfayt. That done, Austria must sue for peace; then I should be free to march on Paris."

That was the very thing Roger feared, and he saw that he must play every card he had in an attempt to prevent it. Knowing the French hatred of the English, he had intended to pose as a French emigre, but he realized that Pichegru must know that de Conde was penniless, and that the huge money bribe he was offered could come only from England; so now he felt that it might serve him better to disclose his true nationality. After a moment, he said:

"Even if the Austrians cave in you will not be able to secure peace for France. Britain will fight on. The English are a dogged people, and the Scots and Irish no less so. Only twelve years ago, alone m arms, Britain fought all Europe to a standstill. To them surrender is unthinkable."

Pichegru nodded. "I fear you are right in that The English, too, are so vastly rich that with their gold they will suborn other nations to take up arms against us. Moreover, they love fighting for its own sake and are most ferocious enemies. I am told that such is their lust for blood that when at peace they spend all their time hunting, and devour raw the beasts they kill, tearing at them with their big teeth."

Roger could not help laughing. "Nay, they are not quite as uncivilized as that It is true that they make good fighters, but by far the greater part of them would much prefer to remain at home tilling their rich fields, to enduring a hard soldier's life abroad and as often as not dying on some distant battle-field."

"You speak as though you knew and liked them."

"I do; for although I have lived for many years in France, I am an Englishman myself .

"The Devil you are! Then I am inclined more than ever to have you shot."

"No, General, I do not think you will do that." Roger made the statement with quiet confidence, and, opening his coat, displayed the emigre uniform beneath it "You see, I have come to you as one soldier to another; and, apart from the laws of war, I cannot believe that you would act like a Rewbell. So brave a man as yourself would not descend to soil his hands in the manner of these terrorists."

"You have me there." Pichegru's handsome face broke into a smile. "I may, though, have to imprison you for my own protection. But you are a brave fellow yourself, and a clever one. Why in thunder did not that fool of a Prince send you to me before, instead of a woolly-minded fumbler like Fauche-Borel?"

"Because I had not then been brought into this matter. However, we were speaking of the English. Britain holds the seas, and even were you master of all Europe you could not drive her from them: therefore you can never bring her to her knees. While she, if need be for a generation to come, can deny the oceans to your commerce, blockade your ports, starve and harass you. That she will never make peace with a Revolutionary Government I am convinced. On the other hand, she is ready to do so with a Constitutional Monarchy. I give you my solemn word that, whatever you may have been led to believe, Mr. Pitt is at heart a man of peace, and greatly desires it. If you will but bring about a Restoration, I am confident that he will agree to any honourable terms. He would, I believe, even go so far as to support France at a conference of the Powers in her claim to what she asserts to be her natural boundaries, and thus enable her to retain much of the territory that you and her other Generals have won for her in the present war."

Pichegru stared at him, and asked slowly: "Who are you, that though dressed as a private in an army of outlaws, you should speak as though you knew the mind of Mr. Pitt?"

"I am the personal envoy of His Britannic Majesty's Prime Minister," Roger replied with suitable dignity. "I visited de Condé's headquarters only to secure for you the document you are holding."

As he fired his big gun, he watched anxiously for die General's reactions. They came at once. Jumping to his feet he exclaimed: "Then it is not de Condé alone who is behind this proposition! His name written in his own hand should be good enough; but mere have been times when Princes of the House of Bourbon have gone back upon a bargain. If the British Government is prepared to guarantee the terms, I can count the fortune I am offered as good as already placed to my credit in the Bank of England."

Roger bowed at the implied compliment. "That certainly is true as far as the money clauses are concerned. As to the honours, I can only say that, without casting doubt upon the Prince's word, should Mr. Pitt's influence be needed to secure them for you, I feel sure he would exert it in your favour."

With a vigorous nod, Pichegru murmured: "We have got a long way. A very long way. In a quarter of an hour with you I have got further than in all my weeks of dickering with Fauche-Borel."

"You agree, then?" Roger asked, his hopes rising with a bound.

"Nay; I do not say that. There are matters of far more weighty import than my own future to be considered. You spoke just now of the British Government's being willing to agree a peace if France were a Constitutional Monarchy. Can you give me an assurance that the Bourbon Princes are prepared to make her one?"

"No; that I cannot do. I had no converse with de Condé on that subject."

"It is, though, the vital question upon which the whole future hangs. It is my belief that nine-tenths of the French people would now welcome a Restoration, were it based on the Constitution of '91. Last June, when the poor child in the Temple died and that fat dolt the Comte de Provence became technically Louis XVIII, he already had the game in his hands, had he only exercised a modicum of tact. He had but to announce that he accepted the principles of '91 and would grant an amnesty to all who had taken part in the Revolution, for half France to have risen and spontaneously demanded his recall. Yet dull-witted bigot that he is, he had the folly to declare in public that the Constitutionalists were more detestable to him than Robespierre himself. How can we hope to restrain the emigres from taking their revenge for past ills, and the pursuance of liberal policies, should I put such a man upon the Throne?"

It was a hard question to answer, but Roger did his best. "I think," he said, "you overrate that danger. Whatever the personal views of the King and a handful of ultra-Royalists may be, theirs will be voices crying in the wilderness. The Governments of Britain and Austria no longer give a rap for the pretensions of the ancien regime, and should they make peace at all they will use their utmost endeavours to ensure that it has the basis for a lasting one. Such pretensions to autocracy could lead only to another revolution, with the prospect of further war; so you may be certain that the Allies would insist on the new King opening his reign as a monarch with strictly limited powers. After that, matters will be in the hands of yourself and men ike you. Free elections would produce a Chamber almost entirely composed of Moderates, and the King's only alternative to accepting its views would be to go once more into exile."

"Perhaps you are right," Pichegru muttered. "Yes, I suppose with virtually the whole nation behind us we could exert a reasonable control over him. There is, though, another thing. Although I am satisfied that the majority of the people would welcome a Restoration, there are many prominent men who would not, and among them are several holding key posts in the Administration. When I was last in Paris, Carnot told me that did he have the King's pardon in his pocket he would still not consider his life worth ten sous were a Bourbon monarch once more installed at the Tuileries; and, though for long a member of the Committee of Public Safety, he has harmed no man without just cause. Barras, Cambaceres, Larevelliere-Lepeaux,

Cambon and Sieyes are of the same mind. As for villains like Rewbell, Tallien and others whose hands have dripped with innocent blood, they would rather die fighting in a ditch than trust to the mercy of a descendant of St. Louis. And rightly, for they would receive none."

Roger's blue eyes glinted. "What is to prevent you from having Rewbell hanged to the nearest flagstaff. As for the other ex-Terrorists, make a list of them; then when you reach Paris put a price upon their heads, and have them shot at sight."

"With Rewbell and Merlin I can deal at my pleasure. But the situation of the others is very different. As I advance on Paris they will do their utmost to rouse the mobs. They will denounce me in the Chamber as a traitor, and give tongue to their old rallying cry that the Revolution is in danger. When I reach the city scores of agitators paid or inspired by them will mingle with my troops, and will inevitably undermine the loyalty of a great part of them to myself. Overnight the forces upon which I must rely may melt away, or turn against me. That is the great danger."

Agitatedly the General began to walk up and down.

"I spoke of this to Fauche-Borel, and he at least had the sense to admit that I was right. He said that he would go to Paris and endeavour to arrange with certain Royalists there that the most dangerous of our potential enemies should be either bribed into silence or forcibly muzzled. That is what must be done. To be certain of success it is essential that a coup d'etat should be organized to synchronize with my arrival before the gates of Paris. But to bring a few hundred monarchists shouting into the streets is not enough. And how could a nonentity like Fauche-Borel succeed in doing more. What we need is someone who could win over to our designs a few such men as Barras and Dubois-Crancé. They have the power to arrest the ex-Terrorists who would otherwise sabotage our project That is what we must have. And I'll make no move till something of the kind has been arranged. But where in the world are we to find a man capable of such an undertaking?"

Roger sighed. "I fear, mon General, that he stands before you. Or at least one who might succeed in it if fortune favoured him."

"What! You! An Englishman! How could you possibly hope to gain the ear of the most powerful men in France, and persuade them to participate in a monarchist plot?"

"I told you a while back that I have lived long in France. Through­out the greater part of the Terror I was in Paris. I know well all the men you have named. There was a time when they trusted me com­pletely. But I have been absent from Paris for above a year. Every­thing hangs on whether I can re-establish myself in their confidence. Either I shall be in prison within twenty-four hours of my return to the capital, or I will stand a fair chance of bringing about the conditions you require."

Pichegru suddenly took a step forward and, grasping Roger by the hand, exclaimed: "You are a brave man! And from the open expression of your countenance, I believe an honest one. I am pre­pared to trust you. If, on your return, you can give me your word that measures to stifle opposition will be taken at the right moment, I promise you that I will march my army on Paris. Not for my own ends, or for the King, but as the only hope I see of restoring peace and prosperity to my country."

Pressing the General's hand firmly, Roger replied: "I thank you for the confidence you place in me. That I will do my utmost you may rest assured, for the future happiness of my countrymen is concerned in this as much as the happiness of yours."

For a moment they, stood in silence with hands clasped, then Roger asked: "But what of the immediate future? Even should I succeed in keeping my freedom and manage to organize a plot designed to smother opposition by the fanatics of the old Jacobin Club, two or three weeks at least must elapse before I can return and report to you. What, in the meantime, are your intentions towards the Austrians?"

With a shrug the General replied: "The war must go on. My plans are laid and must be put into operation. The Austrians will be defeated, but that is their misfortune, and can have no bearing on this other matter."

"Ah, but it may!" Roger protested. "Should you inflict crushing defeats upon both their armies, that might cause them to sue for peace prematurely. If Britain becomes the only Great Power left with the right to make terms, any influence she might exert upon Louis XVIII to grant a Liberal Constitution is bound to be weakened. And in this, as in all other things, it is a good maxim to keep ever in the forefront of one's mind the ultimate object of the operation."

Again Pichegru stared at him, then muttered: "I would I had you for my Chief-of-Staff. Yet in this matter I have little, choice. General Jourdan is expecting me to launch a thrust against Heidelberg, and I'll confess that I am all impatience for this new stroke to bring additional glory to my army and myself."

Roger shrugged, but a diabolically subtle note had crept into his voice as he said: "Upon glory foolish people have become drunk, mon General. Personally, as a bon viveur, I am inclined to feel sorry for those who wake up with bad heads and empty pockets in the morning. But I have no admiration for them."

"There is no question of bad heads, or of pockets being full or empty."

"I differ from you there. Should I fail to bring about the conditions you require in Paris, and in the meantime you have launched this new offensive, all hope will be gone, not only of your doing what is best for France, but also of your securing any part of the great fortune that has been promised you. My master would, I know, approve my language in putting it to you that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

With a frown the General replied: "I fear that I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning."

"I pray you pardon me if my words have seemed obscure." Roger's blue eyes bored into the General's brown ones. "But I have told you that I am the emissary of Mr. Pitt, and you have yourself remarked on the great wealth of Britain. Do you agree to leave the Austrians more or less unmolested until the greater issue has been decided, here and now, as an earnest of our good intentions, I will make you a payment of a million francs."

^r'A million francs!" Pichegru gasped; "but how could you?"

Smiling, Roger fished a paper from his inner pocket and said: "Here is a blank order on Mayer Anselm Bauer, banker of Frankfurt-on-Main. I am prepared to fill it in for a million francs, payable to you, if you can see your way to deal gently with the Austrians."

"A million," the General repeated with awe in his voice. "Is it true then that the streets of London are paved with gold?"

"Not quite. But many of our hunting nobility, whom you had supposed to devour game raw, are served with it cooked, and in considerable state, off gold plate, in their mansions. What say you to my proposition?"

"The money bags of these German Jews are said to be bursting; but a million in gold is an enormous sum to pay out on demand. I greatly doubt if this man Bauer could meet the order."

"Since he is an agent of the British Treasury, he should be able to do so at comparatively short notice."

For a moment Pichegru remained thoughtful, then he said: "Time is of importance if I am to enter into this transaction. Should I delay my offensive for more than a few days, and it afterwards transpires that the Jew is unable to pay, I shall have lost my chance of joining forces with General Jourdan yet be no better off."

"How long can you give me?" Roger asked.

"For what?"

"Why, to go to Frankfurt and get the gold for you; or at least a written promise that in the course of a week or so it will be paid over to anyone you choose to nominate."

The General nodded. "That would certainly settle the question definitely. Frankfurt is near a hundred miles from here, but a light coach would get you there by tomorrow morning. The collection of the gold would require special arrangements; so for that I am willing to wait. But the day after tomorrow, at latest, I must have an assurance that it will be forthcoming."

"Barring accidents, I should be able easily to get back by then."

"That is unnecessary. One of my A.D.C.'s, a Captain Gusiot, is fully in my confidence. I will send him with you. He can bring me back the answer. If it is satisfactory I will send only two divisions against Heidelberg. That will be sufficient to prevent General Jourdan from suspecting that I have departed from our agreed plan, but in­sufficient to take the place. Unless the Austrians are bigger fools than I take them for, they will then be able to prevent our joining up, and a stalemate result which must last at least a month."

Roger knew then that, providing the money was forthcoming, he would have achieved the equivalent of a great allied victory; but he knew, too, that the final act yet remained to be played and that to play it he must now once more risk his head in Paris.

chapter xx

THE AFTERMATH OF THE REVOLUTION

Pichegru had spoken gloomily and it was evident that he was much troubled by this contemplated betrayal of his army's prospects of achieving another great victory: so Roger was careful to conceal the elation he felt at having won him over. Refraining from comment, he said quietly:

"As tune is of importance, the sooner Captain Gusiot and I set off, the better."

"I agree; but it would be preferable that you should not be seen together in this headquarters.

"There is no reason why we should be seen together at all until we are well out of the city. I have taken a room at the Drei Konige under the name of Bertrand, and Captain Gusiot can pick me up there. It is already dark and there will be no necessity for him to leave the coach; he can simply send in for me."

The General smiled. "I see you are well practised in discretion." Then, after glancing at his watch, he added: "It is now a quarter to eight Two hours should be enough forme to give Gusiot his instruc­tions and for him to make his preparations. Be ready to join him in a coach at ten o'clock."

For a short time they discussed various political leaders in Paris, and the chances of getting them to combine in a coup d'etat; then they shook hands on their bargain, and Pichegru told his club-footed soldier servant to see Roger safely out of the Rathaus.

In his attic at the Drei Konige he changed from the imigri uniform back into his own clothes, repacked his valise and went downstairs for a meal. He had not long finished it when the coach arrived for him. Darkness prevented his seeing the man in it except as a vague figure, and as soon as he had taken his place with a muttered greeting, the vehicle drove out of the inn yard.

A reluctant but instinctive caution kept both men from speaking until they were clear of the town, and even then they made no mention of the business they were bent upon. For a while they discussed the war, then they settled down in their corners to doze as well as they could while the coach jolted its way through the night averaging some eight miles an hour.

For well over half the journey they travelled by the road along the right bank of the Rhine, which was in the hands of the French; and as they had an escort of hussars they were nowhere challenged.- But at about five in the morning they reached the fork road, the right arm of which ran north-east through Darmstadt to Frankfurt; and, as the territory they were about to enter was in a state of dubious neutrality, they decided that it would be best to dispense-with their escort

In the grey pre-dawn light Roger now saw his companion properly for the first time. He was a well set-up man of about thirty with flashing black eyes and a fine upturned moustache: and Roger was relieved to see he had taken the precaution, against failing in with the Austrians, of obtaining for himself a suit of ill-fitting but adequate civilian clothes. However, they encountered no Austrian troops, breakfasted heartily in Darmstadt and, soon after ten o'clock, crossed the bridge over the Main into Frankfurt,

Without difficulty they found the Judengasse, and the dwelling in it of the banker Bauer. It proved to be a sizeable mansion and above its door, as a sign, there hung a red shield. Roger and Gusiot went inside. The ground floor was in use as a counting-house, and when Roger told one of the young men there that he wished to see the banker in person, they were obsequiously bowed through to a private section partitioned off from the main office.

A Jew of about fifty, clad in the traditional cap and gown, rose to meet them. Keeping his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, he begged them to be seated and enquired their business. Roger produced the order and enquired if, when filled in for a million francs, it could be met

Bauer asked a moment's grace, went to a cabinet and compared the signature on the order with one he had there, then he said: "Nobleborn, no one could doubt that the British Treasury is good for a mere fifty thousand pounds; but in these troublesome times one does not keep such a sum in one's cellar. How soon do you require it?"

"How soon can you produce it?" Roger asked.

"Permit me, nobleborn, to consult my sons." Bauer replied; and, on Roger's nodding, he rang a handbell four times. In response three young Jews, the eldest of whom appeared to be only in his early twenties, came in. For a few minutes their father talked with them in the tongue of their race, then he turned to Roger and said:

"Nobleborn, if you will accept mainly marks and thaler, in four days' time we shall be prepared to meet your order with the equivalent of one million francs in gold."

Roger glanced at Gusiot and the Frenchman nodded. The formalities were soon completed, then the banker and his three sons accompanied them to the front door. The youngest, a stripling of eighteen, went out to the coach with them and said to Roger:

"Pardon me, nobleborn, but it is evident that you are a trusted agent of the English. Do you think there might be a future in England for a young man like myself?"

With the habitual kindness that was second nature to Roger, providing due respect was paid to him, he smiled, and replied: "Why not? We have Lloyd's House where more shipping is insured than anywhere else in the world, the India Company and the Hudson Bay. With the coming of the mechanical age Britain's own industries are booming, and loans for their expansion are always in good demand. On London's 'Change in these days many a fortune is being made by shrewd men within a few years."

"I thank you, nobleborn." The young Jew bowed low. "I have hopes of coming there to settle one day. Pointing to the red shield above their heads he added: "There are so many of us in the German States named Bauer that my branch of the family has decided to be known in future as the Rothschilds. Would you be gracious enough to remember that, and should I come to England put in a good word for me where you can, because our house, although not a very rich one yet, has done its utmost to meet your heavy demand upon it promptly."

"Indeed I will. On my return to England I will tell Mr. Rose, who decides all things at the Treasury, of the great assistance your family has been to us." Roger gave the promise willingly; the future being a closed book to him, he could not know that he was pledging his support to a man whose financial genius and unshakable faith in Britain would make him second only to Wellington in bringing about the final downfall of Napoleon.

Gusiot and Roger then adjourned to a good inn for a meal. After it, with Bauer's written promise to pay, the Captain set out on his return journey. Roger, now aching in every limb from his many hours in jolting coaches, took a room and went straight to bed.

Next morning, September the 28th, he caught the diligence into Mainz, which was in the hands of a French garrison. There, he hired another travelling coach and, after some trouble, two French-speaking coachmen to drive it. Late in the afternoon he crossed the Rhine, now heading west. On the night of the 30th, the cumulative effect of the jolting forced him to sleep in a bed for the night at Verdun. But without any further break of more than a couple of hours in his journey, he reached the outskirts of Paris soon after midday on October the 2nd.

As the coach drew level with a big rambling building in the Faubourg St. Martin, Roger halted it. Before the Revolution the place had been a convent, but a board attached to its tall wall announced that it was now a depot for army clothing. Having settled up with his two coach­men, Roger picked up his little valise and walked through one of the tall gates, thus giving the men the impression that the depot was his destination. Of its janitor he enquired for an imaginary Citizen Rollo, and the man obligingly sent his son to ask the heads of various depart­ments if they had anyone of that name working under them, with, of course, negative results. Twenty minutes having been occupied in this way Roger walked out to find, as he expected, that he had again freed himself from the possibility of hired drivers gossiping about where he had come from at the inn at which he meant to stay.

Half a mile down the road stood the Porte St. Martin. During the Terror, this gate, and all the others of Paris, had been manned as barriers at which passes had to be shown; but he found that it was now open again to both inward and outward traffic between dawn and sunset Another mile's walk brought him to La Belle Etoile in the Rue de l'Arbe Sec, not far from the Louvre. Going in he found the landlord in his little office, and asked for a room.

To Roger's amusement and satisfaction Maitre Blanchard did not recognize him, and if anyone in Paris was likely to have done so it should have been he; for he had known Roger first as the impecunious

secretary of the Marquis de Rochambeau, seen him mysteriously blossom into a young nobleman who had the entre at Versailles, and later proved a most stalwart friend to him, with the knowledge that he was a secret agent, during the dark days of the Terror.

As they were alone together, and it was during the quiet of the afternoon, Roger laughingly declared himself. The good Norman was overjoyed at seeing him again, and ran to fetch his wife from the kitchen. Both of them fussed over him, Mere Blanchard declared that she would cook him his favourite dish of duck casseroled in red wine for dinner, and her husband promised to produce his best Burgundy and oldest Calvados.

When they escorted him upstairs, most poignant memories flooded back to him, as when last he had lived there he had loved and lost his beautiful Athenals; but, knowing that, they tactfully refrained from giving him his old room.

Two hours later he dined with them in their private parlour, and, during the meal, they gave him the latest news. Paris was once more in a ferment—this time on account of the final decisions taken by the old Convention on the form of the new Constitution. The clauses had been argued with great violence ever since June, when Boissy d'Anglas, a Liberal Deputy who had recently come much to the fore, had put forward the recommendations of a Committee which had been debating the question all through the spring.

The salient points of the Committee's findings were that the executive power must once more be divorced from the legislative, that there should be two chambers instead of one, that the members of both must be owners of property, that universal suffrage should be abolished and that only those who paid taxes should be entitled to a vote.

While these proposals did not deprive the people of any of the real liberties they had won by the Revolution, they were clearly aimed at destroying once and for all the dictatorship of the proletariat and concentrating power in the hands of the middle-classes. In conse­quence, all the old catch phrases of the Revolution had been revived By the mob orators, and the surviving Jacobins, who still formed a formidable bloc in the Chamber, had fought them tooth and nail.

The re-establishment of an executive independent of the law­makers was denounced as a move to restore the monarchy or so it had been decided that it should consist of a Directory having five members, one of whom was to retire annually.

The measure for the two Chambers had been agreed: the lower, called the Cinq-Cents, was to have 500 members and to initiate legisla­tion; the upper, called the Conseil des Anciens, was to have 250 members and the power to veto any measures passed by the lower for one year. But the property qualification for election was ruled out by one motion of the Jacobins, and by another they secured a vote to anyone willing to tax themselves to the value of three days’ work.

These brakes upon further reaction had not aroused' much opposi­tion amongst the general public, but the arrangements for the election of members to the two new Chambers had provoked a universal outcry.

As Mr. Pitt had rightly appreciated during his -talk with Roger, a free General Election in France must sweep away at one stroke every ex-Terrorist from the new governing body. Barras, Tallien, Freron and the other Thermidorians who had conspired to bring about Robespierre's fall, and still held the reins of power, had been equally quick to appreciate this, so they had allied themselves with the remaining Jacobins to prevent it To the indignation of the electors, they had forced through a decree by which two thirds of the members of the two new Chambers must be selected from the deputies of the old Convention, leaving the electors only the choice of which individual members they should return.

To the vast majority of the people the Convention stood for murder, arbitrary arrest, the seizure of property, forced loans, and every other form of injustice and tyranny. It had, too, brought France to a state of poverty and general misery undreamed of in the old days of the monarchy. In consequence the idea that it was to be perpetuated under the thin disguise of a new name, by a majority of its members continuing as the rulers of the country, was already causing riots which threatened to develop into a mass movement aimed at over­throwing the government.

Roger was delighted to hear all this, as it showed that the state of popular opinion could not have been more favourable to the Allies' designs, and that if Pichegru could be persuaded to march upon the city there really was every reason to believe that it would fall into his hands like a ripe plum. He then asked about conditions in general, to which Maitre Blanchard replied with a bitter laugh:

"If anything, Monsieur, they are worse than when you left us. Food is scarce, prices high. For an honest silver ecu one can get a purse full of the republican paper money, yet we are forced to accept it; and the streets become ever fuller of poor fellows disabled in the wars begging for a crust to keep the life in their bodies. It has become a popular jest to say: 'Under Robespierre we starved and dared not complain; now we may complain but that will not prevent us from dying of hunger*."

"At least people who have made themselves unpopular with the mobs are no longer liable to be set upon and strung up to a lamp­post" Roger remarked, but Mere Blanchard quickly put in:

"Monsieur is mistaken about that; only it is a different type of people who are now the victims of a different kind of mob. The young bourgeois have invented a new form of sport. By night packs of them hunt out and kill one or more of the many thousands of so-called 'patriots' who held posts as jailers, police spies and minor officials of all sorts during the Terror. Few people would now object to them throwing the busts of Marat in the sewers, or booing when the 'Marseillaise' is played in the theatres, and some whom they knife or strangle may deserve their fate, but others do not; and it is wrong that any man should be done to death without a trial."

Blanchard nodded. "On account of these jeunes gens, Monsieur will be wise to keep a sharp look-out should he go into the streets at night They call themselves by such names as the Companions of the

Sun, and the Companions of Jesus, but many of them are little better than bands of licensed robbers."

"Licensed?" Roger picked him up. "Do you mean that they are actually protected by the Government?"

"Not officially; but the authorities make no attempt to put them

down."

"It surprises me greatly that while there are so many declared atheists still in the Chamber it should tolerate any body calling itself the Companions of Jesus."

With a shrug, Blanchard replied: "In matters of religion, as in all else, everything is at sixes and sevens. Not long since, Boissy d'Anglas denounced it in the most violent terms as pandering to childish and absurd superstition; but he went on in the same speech to say that there must be no further religious persecution. His views, I think, express the opinion of even the Moderates in the Chamber. They are hoping that if held up long enough to contempt and ridicule it will die out; but, of course, it will not. Now that they no longer need fear arrest, hundreds of priests have secretly returned to France; and all over the country people are attending Masses with all the greater fervour from the right to do so openly having been so long denied them."

"You should add, though," remarked his wife, "that side by side with this evidence of piety, never before has there been so much open sinning."

"That is true," he agreed. "In the main hunger is responsible, for from the age of twelve upwards there is now hardly a female among the working population who will not readily sell the use of her body for the price of a meal. But vice of every kind is also rampant among the better off. For that Barras, and others of his kidney, are much to blame, as they set the fashion by publicly flaunting a new mistress every week. Yet it is not entirely that When you were last here many thousands of men and women were in prison. Believing themselves to have no chance of escaping the guillotine, to keep up their courage they adopted a philosophy of ‘eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die'. On their release they emerged imbued with this cynicism, and with life once more in their grasp the younger ones gave themselves up to the wildest profligacy. Last winter the jeunesse doree, as they are called, organized 'Victim Balls^’ in which no one was allowed to participate who had not lost a near relative by the guillotine. For these, both the men and women dressed their hair high leaving the neck bare, as it had been the custom to arrange it immediately before execution; and at the beginning of each dance they cried in chorus 'Come, let us dance on the tombs!' It is said, too, that the costumes worn at these parties are becoming ever more shameless, and that many young girls of good birth now openly rival the demi-mondaines, by according their favours to any man willing to give them a jewel or provide them with elegant clothes."

For some three hours longer Roger absorbed the atmosphere of this post-Robespierrean Paris through the reasonably unprejudiced accounts of his honest host and hostess; then, as he was about to leave them for the night he asked Maitre Blanchard:

"Do you know what has become of Joseph Fouché, the Deputy for the Lower Loire?"

The Norman shook his head. "No; that one keeps very quiet these days. Last autumn, by denouncing others whose deeds were no less black than his own, he managed to coat himself in a layer of white­wash. But he must realize that it is no more than skin deep, and that a false step might yet bring about his ruin. I imagine, though, that being a Deputy he is still living in Paris."

"Could you find out for me tomorrow; and, if he is, his present address?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. The officials of the Chamber must know his whereabouts, so there should be no difficulty about that"

Next day, in accordance with his principle of never taking any unnecessary risk, Roger went out only to call on Harris, the banker in the Rue du Bac upon whom his orders for British secret service funds had been made, and draw a considerable sum in gold. But from the Blanchards and the inn servants he learned of the rising tide of unrest that was now agitating the city. The decrees of Fructidor— as were termed those concerning the packing of two-thirds of the seats in the new Chambers with members of the old Convention, and others similarly unpopular passed in that month of the revolutionary calendar —had been rejected by all but one of the Primary Assemblies in the forty Sections of Paris, and deputations by the score carrying petitions demanding that they should be rescinded were besieging the Convention.

In the afternoon Blanchard told Roger that Fouché had left his old apartment in Rue Saint Honore and was said to be living in a small house in the Passage Pappilote, on the Left Bank near the old Club of the Cordeliers. From a big trunk that for several years had been stored for him up in the attic of La Belle Etoile, Roger collected a sword cane, and a small double-barrelled pistol which would go into the pocket of his greatcoat Then, after he had supped, he started out with the intention of getting to grips with his enemy.

Having crossed the Seine by the Pont New he made his way to the Cafe Coraeza, which had been virtually an annex of the Cordeliers, and there enquired for the Passage Pappilote. It proved to be little more than a short cul-de-sac, as at its far end it narrowed to a dark archway through which nothing wider than a barrow could have passed. Lit only by a single bracket lamp affixed to a corner building that abutted on the main street, the greater part of it was in deep shadow; but Roger succeeded in identifying Fouché's house, noted that there were lights behind the drawn blinds of its two upper windows, and rapped sharply on the front door.

There were sounds of someone coming downstairs, then the door was opened by a red-headed young woman carrying a candle. She was an ugly anaemic-looking creature, and Roger recognized her at once as the middle-class heiress who had brought Fouché a modest fortune on his marriage to her three years before.

When asked if her husband was in she replied that he was not, and might not be back for some time; so without stating his business, Roger thanked her and said that he would call again in the morning.

As she closed the door his retreating footsteps rang loudly on the cobbles. But he did not go far. After waiting in the main street for five minutes, he tiptoed back and took up a position within a few feet of Fouché's front door, but bidden in the deep shadow cast by a nearby projecting wall.

Madame Fouché had not recognized him, and he now felt confident that none of the people he had known in Paris was likely to do so. That would be a big advantage if a warrant was issued for his arrest, and he had to leave the city in a hurry. But if he were compelled to do that it would mean the failure of his mission.

.The trouble was that to do any good he must disclose his return to, and re-establish himself in his old identity with, the very people who were most likely to get him thrown into prison. Of these, by far the most dangerous, was Joseph Fouché.

Fouché was doubly dangerous because he knew Roger's real name and nationality. It was very probable that he had passed that informa­tion on to other people after Roger had last left Paris; but he, at all events, was fully aware that Roger was an English spy. Therefore, as a first step, before anything else could be attempted, Roger had to find out if he had passed on that information, and to whom; then either buy his silence or kill him. ' Over an hour elapsed before Roger saw a tall, thin figure turn the corner under the lamp and come with long strides, yet quiet footfalls, towards him. He knew then that within a few minutes he must enter on the deadly contest he had set himself, and again pit his wits against a man who was as cunning as a serpent and as remorseless as a pack of jackals.

chapter xxi

INTO THE LION'S DEN

As Fouché approached, Roger slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat, cocked the small pistol, and drew it out Once before he had had an opportunity to kill Fouché without endangering himself. To have done so could well have been considered as an act of justice, executed on a man who had sent many hundreds of innocent people to their deaths; but from personal scruples Roger had refrained. Now, a second chance had arisen. He had only to fire both barrels at point-blank range, then take to his heels, for Fouché to be gasping out his life in the gutter and himself swallowed up in the pitch dark night.

His hatred of Fouché was such that his fingers itched upon the triggers. Had he pressed them he would have saved himself many future dangers and difficulties; but he could not be certain that killing Fouché would make Paris again safe for himself. Only Fouché could be tricked or persuaded into telling him the degree of risk he would run should he disclose himself to their old associates.

Without suspecting his presence, Fouché walked past him to the door, took out a key, unlocked and opened it. Stepping up behind him Roger pressed the pistol into the small of his back and said quietly:

"Go inside. Make no noise. Take sue paces then turn and face me. Lift a finger or raise your voice and I shall put two bullets into your liver."

The lights in the room above had gone out soon after Roger had begun his vigil; so Madame Fouché could be assumed to have gone to bed and was, he hoped, asleep. But the narrow hall-way was still lit by a single candle in a cheap china holder on a small deal table. Without a word Fouché walked past it, then turned round. Meanwhile Roger had closed the door and stood with his back to it, watching his old enemy narrowly.

Fouché was then thirty-two, and a more unattractive looking man it would have been difficult to imagine. His cadaverous face had a corpse-like hue, his hair was thin and reddish, his eyes pale, fish-like and lacking all expression; his nose was long and, in spite of his frequent snufflings, it sometimes had a drip on its end, as he suffered from a perpetual cold. His tall, bony frame suggested that of a skeleton, and he looked too weak and ill to be capable of any effort; but no appearance could possibly have been more deceptive. Actually he possessed considerable physical strength, and his mind was such a dynamo of energy that he often worked for twenty-four hours on end without relaxation.

As a means of preventing people from guessing his thoughts he had formed the habit of never meeting anyone's eyes with his own; but his shifty glance had swiftly taken in Roger, from his bewhiskered face to his shiny boots, and after a moment his bloodless lips moved to utter the words:

"So, Englishman, you have come back."

"How did you recognize me?" Roger asked with quick interest

"By your voice, your hands, and your principal features. Any one of the three would have given me the clue to your identity. I have trained myself to be observant in such matters. There was, too, the manner of your arrival. I took it for granted that when you did appear you would take the precaution of catching me unprepared."

"You were, then, expecting me to return to Paris?"

"Certainly. I have been wondering for some months past why you had not done so."

"You surprise me somewhat as many men in my peculiar circum­stances might well have decided against ever again risking their necks in this pit of vipers."

Foucne" shrugged. "Ah, but not a man of your resource and courage. How otherwise could you hope to reap the benefit of your last great coup’

"I thank you for the compliment; but I might have sent someone else on my behalf."

"That would not have been in keeping with your character. You are too vain to believe that anyone other than yourself could have played the Royal Flush you hold to the best possible advantage. You ad to return to Paris yourself, and you had to come to me." Matters were developing in a manner entirely unlike anything that Roger had visualized, and after a second's thought, he said: "You are, then, prepared to talk business?" "Of course. Surely you did not suppose that I should refuse, and do my best to get you arrested the moment your back was turned? I am not such a fool as to cut off my nose to spite my own face. Put your pistol away and come into the living-room. We will discuss our mutual interests over a glass of wine."

Roger needed no telling that not one single word Fouché uttered could be relied upon, but it now seemed possible that his formidable enemy believed that there was more to be gained from a temporary alliance than by an immediate betrayal, so he lowered his pistol and nodded.

Picking up the candlestick, Fouché led the way through a door­way opposite the foot of the stairs, and set it down on a table where some cold food had been left for him. Glancing round, Roger saw that the inside of this obscure dwelling was no better than its outside. It was clean and neat, but sparsely furnished, and inplaces the plaster was peeling from the walls. He wondered what Fouché had done with the ill-gotten gains he had accumulated during the Revolution, and assumed that this apparent poverty was no more than a mask assumed to protect himself now that the tide had turned and he might be accused of peculation.

Fouché picked up a bottle of red wine that was already a quarter empty, fetched an extra glass from a cupboard and poured out Both men sat down and Fouché made no comment when Roger, knowing that he must continue to observe every possible precaution against sudden treachery, laid the still cocked pistol on the table beside him. Lifting his glass, Fouché said with a pale smile:

"Weill Here's to the little Capet May he make the fortunes of us both."

Roger knew that young Louis XVII would now never make any­one's fortune, but he echoed the toast and drank of the cheap red wine, then he asked:

"How, think you, can we handle the matter to the best advantage?"

With his bony hands Fouché made a little gesture to which no significance could be attached. "There appeared to me two ways to play this game. Had you arrived earlier m the year we might have lackmailed a great sum out of the Government to refrain from exposing the fact that the child in the Temple was not Marie Antoin­ette's son. That would have entailed handing him over to them. Alternatively, we could have sold him for an equally large sum to the emigres. But since then an event has occurred which greatly alters the situation."

Pausing, he took a mouthful of wine, then went on: "The death in June of the boy whom everyone but a few of us believed to be the young King will make the Government much less inclined to submit to blackmail. With one of the children in a grave no physical com­parison of them can now be made, and as Citizen Simon so debased the real little Capet, turning him into a witless caricature of his former self, should they take the line that we have produced a fake most people would believe them. That factor, too, now seriously prejudices our chances of selling him to the emigres. The Comte de Provence, having had himself proclaimed King, can hardly be expected to welcome the resurrection of his nephew, and might decide also to declare the boy a fake, whether he really believed that to be so or not"

"What, then, do you suggest?" Roger enquired.

"Whether your arrival in Paris at this time is the result of excellent intelligence or simply chance, I do not know. But the fact remains that it could not be more opportune. Within a few days it is certain that a coup d'etat will be attempted. Unless fate introduces some unforeseen factor, there is every reason to believe that it will prove a successful one. Barras and his crew will be swept away and the so-called Moderates will emerge triumphant. In fact, they are not Moderates but Reactionaries, as nearly all of them have now secretly become Monarchists at heart, and in that a great part of the nation is like them."

Again Fouché paused to take a sip of wine. "There are plenty of people in Paris who saw the real little Capet when he was still a prisoner in the Temple and, the spirit of the nation now being what it is, after a coup d'etat would be prepared to swear that the child you could produce is he. Therefore, as I see it, all we have to do is to take into our confidence a few men of influence, and at the right moment present die boy to the new Government. Having secured his person they would be m no danger of losing their posts to a crowd of emigre's, and by forming a Council of Regency they could reign in his name. The Bourbon Princes would at first declare the whole thing a fraud, but later they would have to come to heel, and probably be permitted to return. Whatever line they took would not affect us in the least; for you and I would be the men who had restored the young King to his throne, and from him receive our reward. We should, too, have good prospects of becoming the most powerful men in the State. What say you to that?"

Roger had always known Fouché to have a brilliant mind, but even so he was filled with admiration for the simplicity, yet subtleness, of the proposed plot. By making the new Government a present of the boy all the difficulties and dangers entailed in an endeavour to blackmail it were automatically eliminated; and the prospects of obtaining great rewards would be infinitely better than through long negotiations with the Bourbon Princes, which might end in failure or betrayal. The men who should be in power within a week could not conceivably fail to see how greatly it would be to their advantage to proclaim a Restoration, for, as members of a Council of Regency, their own positions would be secured* and, by bringing about a Restoration in this way, instead of having to fight the emigris over every clause in a new Constitution, they could dictate one embodying all the liberal doctrines they believed in themselves.

Even with the certain knowledge that, at some point in the conspiracy, Fouché would have done his utmost to trick him out of his. share in the triumph, Roger would have been greatly tempted to enter into such a partnership. But there could be no question of that; for the golden link in the chain which alone could have made the plot possible was no longer in existence. Despite that, Roger's strongest card lay in Fouché's belief that he still held it; so, having no option but to play the game out, he said:

"'Tis a truly masterly conception. Only one thing in it surprises me. I had never thought to hear you plan a Restoration."

Fouché shrugged. Times change. The era when a politician could earn a tolerable remuneration by occasionally allowing the sans­culottes to have their heads is over. I have a wife and child to think of, and I must provide for them somehow. Already I am in dire straits and an object of persecution by the Moderates. This is my chance to re-establish myself once and for all, and secure my future. Did not the Protestant King, Henri Quatre, declare that to win over Paris it was worth going to Mass? Well, for the portfolio of a Minister and the Order of St Louis, I should not find it too great a price to kiss that repugnant youngster's hand."

Knowing the way in which Fouché had already more than once repudiated his sworn political convictions and betrayed his backers, Roger could well believe him; so with a nod he said tactfully: "It is not the first time that a man has felt himself compelled to sacrifice his opinions for the sake of his dependants. But tell me, why do you suggest taking others into our confidence? It seems to me neither necessary nor wise."

"It is a wise man who knows his own weakness," Fouché retorted with a bitter laugh. "And politically, at this moment, I am as weak as a new-born babe. From last spring, when the Girondin Deputies were allowed to return to the Chamber, my position has become ever more precarious. They refuse to believe that it was Collot and not I who was mainly responsible for the massacres at Lyons, although it can be proved that I put an end to them as soon as I dared, and then at some risk to myself. The agitation against me reached a peak eight weeks ago. With several others I was denounced in the Chamber by Boissy d'Anglas and our arrest was decreed."

With a snuffle he broke off to blow his nose, refilled Roger's glass and went on. "Fortunately, having been privy to so many matters, I was able to persuade certain still influential people that it was not in their best interests to send me to prison; so the warrant was not put into execution. Then, ten days ago, with the promulgation of the new Constitution, an amnesty was granted to all imprisoned on charges like that against myself; so the warrant is no longer valid. Nevertheless, my enemies have succeeded in undoing me; for jointly with the amnesty it was decreed that no one named in it should be eligible for election to the new Assembly. So, you see, I no longer have even the status of a Deputy; and, having been stripped of all credit, must for this coup seek the co-operation of others in whom the men of tomorrow will place a greater trust."

In view of Fouché's record, it was remarkable that he should have saved himself from the fate that had overtaken Carrier and other leading Robespierrists; yet, somehow, Roger had not expected to find him reduced to such complete impotence. That, with his remark­able brain, should he retain his freedom, he would not remain in obscurity for very long, seemed a foregone conclusion; and Roger asked with considerable interest whom he thought the most promising men to approach on the present business.

"Freron for one," he replied promptly. _

Roger raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Recalling the treatment he meted out to the anti-Revolutionaries in Toulon after its evacuation by the Allies, I should have thought him to be in no better case than yourself."

"He is well on the way to living that down, for he has acted with great shrewdness. Soon after liberty was restored to the Press he again began to edit and publish a journal called L’Orateur du Peuple. It has now been running for over a year, and every month it has become more reactionary. In fact, he has now become the idol of the Jeunesse doree, and wields great influence with all in the Chamber who incline to the Right."

"That was certainly a clever way of whitewashing himself. Who else?"

"Tallien."

"What! Has that old wolf also procured himself a suit of sheep's clothing?"

Fouché gave a sickly grin. "He had, but he has since spilt much blood upon it Therefore he will be only too eager to cleanse it in the Royal washing tub to which we can give him access."

"I am at a loss to understand you."

"Did you not hear of the part he played after the Quiberon affair?" "No. I have conversed with hardly anyone since my return to France."

"Well, then, you will recall that in '94, for all their burning of villages and ferocity, General Turreau's colonnes infernales failed to suppress the revolts in La Vendee. After Robespierre's fall General Hoche was sent there to replace him. Hoche is not only a good soldier but an able young diplomat Instead of shooting all the prisoners he took, he treated them humanely, then recommended a general amnesty. That is why after the landing at Quiberon had been defeated, the emigres who had come from England surrendered to him, instead of fighting on and selling their lives dearly. They expected to be treated as prisoners of war. But Tallien was sent as Representant en Mission from Paris to take charge of matters, and, despite Hoche's pleading, he had all the emigres of good family—six hundred and twelve of them—shot"

Roger endeavoured to keep the horror out of his voice, as he asked: "What in the world impelled him to such an act, when for over a year the guillotine has been used on no one but a few Robespierrists, and thousands of monarchists have been liberated from the prisons?"

"Ah; thereby hangs a tale," snuffled Fouché. "I knew, and others knew, that before the Quiberon landing took place he had already been in secret negotiation with the Royalists. But he was betrayed. His wife, learning of it, sent him an express to Brittany, warning him of his danger. That he might be able to rend his accusers on his return to Paris, and stigmatize them as calumniators, he needed to produce fresh evidence of his incorruptible patriotism. That is why he had those six hundred poor devils butchered."

"Surely, then, he must now be shaking in his shoes from fear of the fate that will overtake him should the coming coup d'etat by the Moderates prove successful?"

"Of course. And only we can save him. Therefore, he will stop at nothing to aid us, and by gaining him we gain that clever aristocrat bitch, his wife, who in the past year has become the most powerful woman in Pans."

"Who else do you intend to sound with a view to joining us?"

"That requires' most careful consideration. We should need only two or three more at the most. Providing all are men of prominence and resolution a camarilla of six, including ourselves, should be sufficient. But what of yourself? Have you thought of a means by which to explain away your long absence from Paris, so that you may shave the hair from your face and go about openly as your old self to aid in this secret coup which we intend?"

Much relieved that at last the matter that had really brought him there had been raised, and by Fouché himself, Roger replied:

"That depends on what account you gave of my disappearance. If you told Paul Barras, and perhaps others, the truth, then I see nought for it but to remain under cover."

Fouché made, what was for him, an impatient gesture. "Every secret has its value. Only a fool gives another information which may later prove to his own advantage, and this was a secret worth a fortune. I thought it possible that you might hand the boy over to Mr. Pitt. Although that would have been a stupid thing to do: as, at best, you might have got from him a few thousand guineas and the right to call yourself Sir Brook. I counted it much more likely that you would keep him in hiding until you judged the time ripe to offer him to the French Government at his true value. With myself know­ing you to be an English agent I felt certain you would not dare to reappear here and approach anyone of importance without first buying my silence. That meant you must share whatever you got for the boy with me, so, naturally, I kept my mouth shut."

"You must have had to give some explanation of what occurred between us in the Temple."

"Naturally. But you, myself and Ban-as were the only people who at that time had become aware that the child in the Temple was not the little Capet; so I needed only to invent a story which would satisfy Barras. I said that while there together we had stumbled on a clue to the whereabouts of the right child That we had then quarrelled violently over which of us should remain to prevent the jailers getting a sight of the substitute, and which should reap the distinction of bringing back the real one from his hiding-place. I said that you had won and locked me in, and that as soon as I was freed in the morning I' had set off post-haste on your heels in the hope of out-distancing you. I said that you had reached the farm­house in the Jura, where the boy was, before me, but that his pro­tectors had outwitted you and got away with him. That they had fled with him towards the Swiss border, and that you had gone after them. That on reaching Lake Geneva I had lost track of both them and you, and that I assumed you had followed them, in the hope that you might yet secure the boy, although he was on foreign soil and bring him back with you."

Roger smiled. "That was certainly an ingenious explanation. But what story did you tell the guards at the Temple when, the morning after my flight, they broke the door in and found you on the floor trussed like a turkey cock?"

"Simply that over a past disagreement which had arisen again while we were talking together, we had come to blows; and that to revenge yourself on me you had left me tied up there." With a slightly acid note in his voice, Fouché added: "I passed a far from comfortable night, but at least during it I had ample time to think out what I should say to the guards when they found me, and, with a view to future possibilities, a suitable tale to tell Barras should you succeed in getting away with the boy. Incidentally, what did you do with him?"

"He had, as you know, been brutalized into almost a moron, and been persuaded that his idea that he had been born the son of Louis XVI was no more than a delusion. But he was still capable of working with his hands; and since he had been trained as a cobbler's apprentice under Citizen Simon, when I got him back to London I apprenticed him to another cobbler, in a quiet suburb called Camden Town."

Fouché accepted Roger's he without comment, and asked: "Have you brought him with you?"

"Nay. I wished first to reconnoitre the lie of the land."

"That was wise. But I take it you could produce him at fairly short notice?"

"Yes. I think, though, that every move in our game should be settled before I do so."

"I agree; and I have no intention of even whispering anything of this to any man, until the coup d'itat which is now in the making becomes an accomplished fact

Roger nodded. "I was about to suggest just such a policy of caution."

"Of course," Fouché remarked after a moment, "there is always the possibility that, owing to some unforeseen factor, the coup d'etat may not succeed. But, even should it fail, another opportunity to use the boy as we have planned should present itself before very long."

"Seeing the temper of the nation, that is as good as certain," Roger agreed, "and as I have already waited for so many months before attempting this big coup, I can quite well afford to wait a while longer."

Fouché made a wry grimace. "No doubt you can; but I am already at my wits' end for money."

"You surprise me. What have you done with all the jewelled crosses, chalices and copes of which you deprived the churches while you were acting as Proconsul for the Convention in Nevers? Surely you have not spent all the proceeds from them? But perhaps you have them buried and feel that it is now too great a risk to dig up and sell some of them."

Snuffling again, Fouché shook his head. Like many others, you misjudge me concerning that. I swear to you I sent every single thing that I seized, both from the churches and private individuals, back to the Convention, so that they might turn it into money wherewith to help pay the armies. The plantation my family had in the West Indies has been burnt and ravaged by revolted slaves, so I no longer receive an income from that, and my wife's little fortune was swallowed up by two bankruptcies. Now that I have been deprived of my salary as a Deputy I cannot think how I am to keep my family and myself from starvation. I wonder, though, now we are become partners, if ... if you could see your way to making me a loan?"

Roger had no means of knowing if the corpse-like man opposite him was really in desperate straits, or simply playing a part in the hope that he might get something for nothing. He had, however, come prepared to offer Fouché a heavy bribe, if that had seemed the most likely way to achieve his end, so he had several purses of gold distri­buted about him. Now he decided that it would be worth while to part with one, so that if Fouché was in fact near destitute, he would be the more likely to remain at least temporarily trustworthy, in the hope of receiving others. Standing up, Roger put a silk net purse on the table, and said:

"There is a hundred louis. That should keep you from want for the time being." And, knowing that he who appears to give willingly gives twice, he added: "You are welcome to it.

Fouché too stood up. Even now, his dull eyes showed no flicker of delight; but his voice did hold a warmer note that sounded like gratitude, as he picked up the purse and chinked the coins in it. "I shall not forget this. It means a lot to me. Perhaps a time will come when I may be able to repay you with some service that you could not buy for ten times this sum."

Having diplomatically smiled an acknowledgment, Roger said: "One thing more. After my disappearance, many other people besides Barras must have wondered what had become of me. What form did their speculation take?"

"That was attended to. Both Barras and I were anxious that no rumour should get around that the boy in the Temple was not the King; so the last thing we wished to do was to give people grounds for supposing that you had gone off in pursuit of the real one. The two of us put it about that you had been sent on a secret mission."

That was all Roger wished to know; so he pocketed his pistol and prepared to take his departure. At the door Fouché asked him casually: Where can I get in touch with you?" But with a guile that matched Fouché's own, he replied:

"For the time being I think it wisest to spend no two nights in one place, and to disappear from each without leaving an address, so I cannot give you one. But as soon as events develop in a manner satisfactory to our plan, I will communicate with you."

As Roger walked back through the dimly-lit streets he knew that

Fouché might be already running to the nearest police office to betray him, give a description of his new appearance, and have him hunted down. The ex-Terrorist was entirely capable of having played a part from the start to the finish of their long interview. On the other hand, he had been led to believe that by holding his tongue a wonderful prize was to be gained; so if he really had kept what he knew of Roger to himself so far, he now had the best possible reason for continuing to do so.

That he had. in the main, been telling the truth seemed to Roger more than likely and, if so, no set of circumstances could have been more favourable to himself; for, if the explanations given about his disappearance were to be believed, it meant that he had very nearly a clean bill for reappearing in Paris as Citizen Commissioner Breuc.

One fence, and a stiff one, still had to be got over. He had to explain his long disappearance to Barras, and give him some plausible account of what had happened to the little Capet If he could succeed in that he would be free to set about forming a secret camarilla pledged to collaborate with Pichegru in bringing about a Restoration.

But Barras was one of the men who would have no truck with that, and to even hint at it to him would mean immediate arrest Yet, unless he could lie his way back into Barras's confidence, his apparent success with Fouché would be completely worthless. Barras, too, was too rich to bribe and too courageous to bully. Moreover, unlike Fouché, he was still one of the most powerful men in France; so to set about tackling him was an undertaking bristling with even greater dangers.

After recrossing the Seine, in spite of the lateness of the hour, Roger found the central Sections of the city still restless. By dropping into conversation with a group on a street corner he learned that the electors of the Section Lepelletier, which was in the forefront of the agitation, had held a meeting in the Theatre Francais, and that all the evening the Place de l'Odeon outside it had been packed with sympathizers from other Sections. In alarm, the Convention had passed an emergency decree declaring the meeting to be illegal, then despatched police and dragoons to disperse it; but the mob in the Palace had driven them off and the meeting had passed a resolution declaring that the Convention no longer represented the Sovereign People.

Next morning Roger had a horse saddled for him in the stable of La Belle Etoile and rode out from the city to the pleasant village of Passy. He was technically the owner of a charming little house there, as his friend M. de Talleyrand-Perigord, the wily Bishop of Autun, had made it and its contents over to him when he had had to fly from Paris in order to protect his property from being sold by the revolu­tionaries as that of an emigre. Roger had used it on numerous occasions since as a safe hide-out and when last there had left with a couple named Velot, who had been de Talleyrand's butler and cook, a con­siderable sum for their support until either he or their real master could come to the house again.

He found old Antoine Velot working in the garden, and was both relieved and delighted because he was genuinely fond of the dear old man. Marie Velot returned soon afterwards from shopping in the village, and the couple could not have done more to make Roger welcome. All through the months, knowing that he never announced his coming, they had kept the best bedroom ready for him, and they both expressed the hope that he had come for a long stay.

He told them that he might return late that night, or the next, and lie low there for a while, but as yet could not be certain; so, in case his return should be prevented, he made them a further liberal payment which would keep them in comfort for at least another year. They gave him an excellent early dinner, then he rode back to Paris, ap­proaching the centre of the city late in the afternoon.

As he did so he could hear the roll of drums from several directions, which could be taken as an indication that the National Guards were being summoned to their respective Section headquarters. All work had ceased, and processions were marching through the streets carrying banners and shouting such slogans as 'Down with the Two-Thirds' and 'End the Tyranny of the Convention'. Among the marchers there was a high proportion of respectably dressed men. Many of them wore grey great-coats with black collars and green cravats, thus openly displaying the colours which had been adopted by the Royalists, while others in woollen caps with bobbles were obviously Breton Chouans, who had been brought into Paris to aid in a rising.

On arriving at the Belle Etoile Roger got hold of Maitre Blanchard, who was always a good source of news owing to his many customers, and from him learned the latest rumours.

The Convention had declared itself in perpetual session and, it was said, had sent for General Menou, who commanded the Army of the Interior, to bring troops from his camp at Sablons. In the meantime it had only the fifteen hundred men of its own special guard at its disposal; so, for its further protection, an emergency measure had been passed permitting the rearming of the 'patriots', as the sans-culottes were termed; and the weapons which had been taken from them after the quelling of the riots in the previous May had been reissued to many hundreds of them that morning.

On the other hand, this official arming of the mob had been seized upon by* the Sections as an excuse to call out the National Guard, which was mainly composed of middle-class citizens and was over­whelmingly anti-Convention in sentiment. Nine Sections had already declared themselves in open rebellion, and called upon the others to join them in maintaining the public safety which, they alleged, was now - menaced by the Terrorists.

Late in the evening General Menou arrived in the capital, but with only a limited number of troops; and that, together with the fact that had he obeyed the Convention's order promptly he could have reached it by midday, seemed to Roger a clear indication of his luke-warmness.

Menou was the General who had put down the rising of the sans­culottes in May, and he had done so with considerable vigour; but he was now called on to do the very opposite. It was whispered that he had monarchist sympathies, and it was certain that he had many friends among the leaders of the Sections; so he could not be expected to use force, except in the last extremity, and his tardy arrival now made it seem possible that he was even in league with the Sections, and might go over to them.

The rapid development of the crisis gave Roger furiously to think how it might affect his own affairs. He had hoped that it would be delayed for a few days, in order that he might first have an opportunity of seeing Barras privately in his own house. Now it seemed very unlikely that he would be able to do so for, the Convention being in perpetual session, and also the Committee of Public Safety, it was as good as certain that Barras would be at one or other of them.

Yet, that he should see Barras before the clash occurred was imperative. During the last rising the mob had broken into the Chamber, slam a Deputy named Feraud, cut off his head, stuck it on a pole, and held it up face to face with Boissy d'Anglas, who had been occupying the rostrum. A similar fate to Feraud's might overtake Barras that very night If it did Roger would be debarred from pro­ceeding with his plans, owing to the extreme danger of resuming his old identity while still uncertain how many people knew the real reason for his flight from France. Only through Barras could he learn if Fouché had told the truth, or deceived him so that he should disclose himself and be promptly arrested.

At nine o'clock he decided to take the plunge involved by going to the Convention. The risk was a high one as, should Barras prove an enemy, from his own house it might have been possible to escape, but there would be little chance of doing so from a crowded hall, or a Committee room, with soldiers within easy call. All Roger could do was to take the precautions he had already planned, by going in the emigre uniform under his long coat, and on horseback, so that if he had to make a bolt for it and could reach his mount, he would stand some chance of outdistancing his pursuers.

Soon after ten o'clock he dismounted outside the Tuileries, tied his horse to a hitching-post and went inside. In the lobby leading to the Assembly Hall there was more than the usual crush of people, and they were now exchanging agitated rumours. It was known that General Menou's troops had surrounded the Convent of the Filles de St. Thomas, which was the headquarters of the Lepelletier Section; but he was said to be parleying with the enemy.

On enquiring for. Barras, Roger learned, with almost stupefying thankfulness, that, having spent all day in the Convention, he had gone home to supper. Securing the address of his house, Roger ran outside, jumped on his horse and rode away, praying frantically that he might catch Barras there before he returned to resume his duties.

The house was a large one in the Rue de Grenelle. When Roger reached it he saw that a coach was waiting outside; and as he tied his horse to the railings the front door opened. A man and a woman stood for a moment in the lighted doorway. The broad shouldered soldierly figure Roger instantly recognized as that of Barras; the woman was fashionably dressed, and had a willowy figure.

As Barras led her down the steps Roger saw that she was about thirty, olive complexioned, brown-haired and beautiful. He waited until Barras had seen her into the coach, thei. as his quarry turned to re-enter the house he nerved himself to move forward. If a visit to Fouché's dwelling could be likened to entering a snake-pit, one to Barras's house was certainly equivalent to walking into a lion's den. Ready to spring back and run on the instant, he stepped forward and said m a loud, cheerful voice:

"Good evening Citizen Commissioner. I am happy to see that you have not lost your good taste where the fair sex is concerned."

"Who the devil are you!" growled Barras.

Roger laughed. "It's not to be wondered at that you don't recognize me, but I am your old adherent, Citizen Breuc."

The die was cast. In an agony of apprehension Roger waited for Barras's reply. It seemed an age in coming, yet actually it was only a few seconds. Having stared at him for a moment in the uncertain light, Barras exclaimed:

"Ventre du Pape! So it is! Where on earth have you been all this time?"

Roger breathed again. There was no trace of the hostility he had feared in Barras's voice, but a warm note of pleasure.

"'Tis a long story." he replied. "But if I may accompany you inside I'll tell it to you as briefly as I can."

"Come in, my dear fellow. Come in and welcome." Barras threw a friendly arm about his shoulders and side by side they went up the steps.

In the lighted hall Roger was able to get a better look at him. He was, in his southern, Provencal way, as flamboyantly handsome as ever. His big nose and pugnacious chin proclaimed the forcefulness of his character: his full, sensual mouth and bright eyes, his boundless zest for good living. As a ci-devant Comte and an officer of the old Royal Army he had the easy manners and striking bearing of the born aristocrat who has long been a soldier.

"You have not changed much," Roger remarked with a smile, "either in appearance or, it seems, in your devotion to the ladies. That was a rare charmer that you saw to her coach just now."

Barras grinned back. "Oh, she is a little protegee of mine, and a friend of Madame Tallien. Her name is Josephine de Beauharnais. No doubt you will remember her husband the General, whose head some of our old friends had cut off. She is still a widow, and a deucedly attractive one."

Roger almost exclaimed, 'Why! I met several of her relatives in Martinique', but just stopped himself in time. His heart lurched within him at his narrow escape, and when he recovered, he said instead:

"From what I see of the condition of the streets, it surprises me somewhat to find you philandering at such a time."

Barras shrugged his broad shoulders. "I had made an appointment some days ago for her to sup with me tonight a deux; and she is too excellent a morsel for me to put her off. As for the riots that are in progress, it would need more than noise to divert me from my pleasures, and if I am fated to die before morning I'd as lief do so here in my own house after a good meal shared with a beauty as on the dirty floor of the Convention. But tell me about yourself, and the little Capet?"

"Fouché must have told you of our stupid quarrel in the Temple," Roger opened boldly, "and how I set off to secure the boy after we had stumbled on a clue to his whereabouts. Some Royalists had him hidden in a farmhouse in the Jura, but they proved too many for me and got away with him. I followed across the Swiss border, but once out of France I no longer had the power to seize him openly, so could only keep track of them in secret, hoping that some chance might arise to abduct him. After a short stay in Geneva they took him to England. Still imbued with the thought of how necessary it was for us to get hold of him, I followed them, and traced him to a country house in Hampshire. There he fell ill with diphtheria and, before I could make further plans, died of it."

"Did he indeed! Well, that has saved us one worry. Although he could have caused us no great trouble after the death of the other boy enabled us to proclaim him officially dead. But why did you not then return?"

Now well launched on the story he had prepared, Roger replied promptly. "I stowed away in a smugglers' yawl, but had the mis­fortune to be caught Since my name is known in England as a so-called terrorist, and I could give no proper account of myself, judging that I would receive better treatment as a soldier than as a civilian, I gave a false name and said that I was an escaped prisoner-of-war; so they sent me to a prison on the Isle of Wight Three times I attempted to escape, and each time failed. But last summer I saw a chance to get back to France. They asked for volunteers willing to renounce the Republic and serve as privates in the Royalist Army.

"I took that course and for some weeks had to submit to training under strict supervision. I was, though, buoyed up by the rumour that the Quiberon expedition was preparing, and hoped to be sent upon it; for once in Brittany it would have been easy for me to desert. But my battalion was not sent with the first invading force, and when the news came that the landings had been a failure, our embarkation orders were cancelled. I had then to remain on there with such patience as I could until six weeks ago, when we were despatched via Hanover to join de Condi's army on the Rhine. As you can imagine, once there I lost not a night, but stole a horse and rode for Paris. I entered the city no more than two hours ago, and without even taking time to get a meal came straight to you."

As Roger ended this dramatic account of his fictitious adventures he flung open his coat and cried: "Look! Have you ever before seen the uniform of an emigre ? The poor devils have only the cast-offs of the Austrians, upon which are sewn special facings. But I possessed no other clothes to come in."

"Well, I'll be damned." Barras's hearty laugh rang out. "What a time you have had, my poor friend, through your zeal to serve the Republic. But you must be starving. Come into the dining-room, and my people shall bring you food and wine upon the instant"

At last, Roger could breathe freely. Fouché had not lied, and the jovial Barras had swallowed his story, hook, line and sinker. But as they turned away from the door a violent banging sounded upon it

With the courage that was one of Barras's greatest assets, although it might have been a mob coming to kill him, he did not call for a servant to open it, or even pull the pistol from his sash. Without a second's hesitation he opened it himself. On the door-step stood two officers of the Convention Guard. One of them gasped out:

"Citizen Commissioner! General Menou has betrayed us! He has jammed? his men into a few streets adjacent to the Filles de St. Thomas. The houses in them are packed with National Guards, who man all the upstairs windows. Our troops have been led into a trap, for should they now raise a finger they will be butchered."

Thrusting a despatch into Barras's hand, he hurried on: "This is from the Convention. They beg you to take charge in this terrible emergency and save them, By it they appoint you Commandant General of Paris."

The other officer nodded, and burst out: "You are our only hope! We are five battalions at the most, with only a rabble of undisciplined patriots to stand by us. Thirty-nine out of the forty Sections of Paris nave declared for the insurgents. They can now muster near forty thousand National Guards, so we are hopelessly outnumbered. As Commandant General on 9th Thermidor you saved the Republic. You are the only man whom we can hope may save it again.''

With a laugh Barras thrust the commission into his sash, and cried: "So be it then! I'll teach these miserable plotters a lesson, or die for it."

Then he turned and slapped Roger on the shoulder. "Old friend, you could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. You were as good as another right hand to me on 9th Thermidor, and you shall be so again. Get yourself a sword! There are a dozen in the rack. And follow me!"

It was the sort of courageous cry that went straight to Roger's heart. Turning swiftly he stretched out a hand to take a weapon from the hall sword rack. He had barely grasped it when he was seized with sudden dismay. Like a bolt from the blue a paralysing thought struck him. He had landed himself on the wrong side of the barricades.

chapter XXII

THE UNFORESEEN FACTOR

There was no way in which Roger could get out of his most unhappy predicament. Barras had already acclaimed him in front of the two officers as a long lost comrade returned to the fold. Nothing could possibly have suited him better had it occurred a few days earlier. Then, he would have had the opportunity he had taken such risks to gain of re-establishing on a sate footing his connection with a score of other political leaders. That would have committed him to nothing. When the insurrection developed he could have pretended illness, so as not to have become involved on either side, awaited its outcome, then entered into secret negotiation with the most promising men of the party that emerged triumphant.

But now he was committed, and committed irrevocably, to serve the party whose downfall it was his object to bring about. If he refused to accept the role that Barras had thrust upon him he would instantly lose his regained status as a good Republican. Should the Convention succeed in suppressing the insurrection, that would deprive him of all credit with many of his old associates and, at worst, possibly lead to his arrest as a traitor.

On the other hand, to be seen by scores of people at Barras's side, fighting the forces of reaction, might land him in still graver difficulties. For, should the insurrection succeed, its leaders, amongst whom must obviously be the men most likely to lend a favourable ear to the proposals he wished to make, would put no trust in him. Worse still, unless he could escape, he would probably be arrested with Barras, and share his fate. Either way it now looked as if he stood a good chance of being sentenced to the 'dry guillotine' and transported to Cayenne.

Faced with this most distressing dilemma he decided, after only a moment's hesitation, that to sacrifice Barras's confidence immedi­ately after having so fully regained it would be both rash and foolish. He must at least pretend to stand by his old colleague for the moment, and trust that as the situation developed some means would offer by which he might safeguard his future. Grasping the sword more firmly he hurried after Barras down the steps into the street.

The two officers had come in a coach. Barras entered it with them, while Roger mounted his horse in readiness to accompany the vehicle. The evening had been dark and blustery, but now the wind had dropped and rain was sheeting down. That was all to the good, as it had already driven numerous bands of malcontents off the streets who might have held up the coach, and on finding Barras in it attempted to lynch him. Even as it was, the coach was three times challenged by pickets of National Guards, out on shouting that they were 'Sectionists on their way to a meeting' it was allowed to pass. Soon after midnight, much relieved, they arrived at the Ministry of War in the Boulevard des Capucines.

Barras showed his commission as Commander-in-Chief to a duty officer down in the hall; then they all went up to a big room on the first floor. In it a dozen officers with gloomy faces were sitting and standing about Only one of them appeared to be doing any work; a thin, dark-haired young man in the stained and worn uniform of a Brigadier-General. He was seated at a table, poring over a big map, a pair of dividers in his hand, with which he was measuring distances upon it

General Carteaux, the senior officer present came forward to greet Barras, and at once expressed his willingness to serve under him. Then Barras said; "Be good enough, Citizen General, to show me the dispositions of your troops and those of the insurgents."

Carteaux led him over to the table. The officer seated at it glanced up and nodded. Roger recognized him then as a little Corsican Captain of Artillery who had got the better of him in a heated argument during the siege of Toulon. At the siege, partly because he was an enthusiastic follower of Robespierre and partly because he was one of the very few officers there who understood anything about the positioning of batteries, he had been given brevet rank as a Lieutenant-Colonel and the command of all the Republican artillery. Having witnessed both his competence and pushfulness, Roger was not surprised to see that, in these days of rapid promotion, he had so soon risen to Brigadier, and decided that he might be worth keeping an eye on.

Meanwhile, Barras had asked: "What are you measuring there, Citizen Brigadier Buonaparte?"

"Ranges," came the prompt reply. "So as to decide where I would position our forces were it my responsibility to put a swift end to this msurrection."

"Let us suppose it is, then," said Barras. "How would you set about it?"

The young Corsican stood up. He was below middle height and so thin that, although only nineteen months younger than Roger, he appeared a stripling beside him. His complexion was sallow, the yellowish skin being drawn taut across gaunt cheeks but becoming whiter towards the top of his fine forehead, the width of which was concealed by lank black hair, parted in the middle and falling over his ears nearly down to his shoulders. In profile his sharply defined features would have made an admirable cameo: full face he might, for a moment, have been taken for an ascetic, until one noticed the unusually powerful development of the muscles at the base of his lower jaw, and the expression—determined, contemptuous and ruth­less by turns—that animated the direct glance of his dark eyes.

Turning towards Barras, he showed no trace of the diffidence usual in a junior officer submitting his views to his senior; but, speak­ing the chronically ungrammatical French of one brought up to use Italian, he gave in short staccato sentences an appreciation of the situation as if he were an instructor teaching a cadet a lesson.

"At our disposal we have some five thousand troops of the line, a battalion of approximately fifteen hundred patriots armed yesterday, and the armed police. Total: eight thousand. Opposed to us we have over thirty-five thousand trained National Guards; the 'golden youth', numbering perhaps two thousand; the returned emigres, at least another thousand; and a considerable number of Chouans known to have been secretly drafted by the Royalists from Brittany to Paris. Total: approximately forty thousand. Were we in open country, vigorous and skilful direction, coupled with the better train­ing and discipline of our troops, might serve to outweigh the heavy odds against us. But street fighting entails scores of localized conflicts over which simultaneous control by one General is impossible; and for storming a barricade courage is a greyer asset than training. Therefore, to take the offensive against the insurgents must inevitably result in our defeat."

"What, then, do you suggest?" Barras asked.

Buonaparte's hands, which were of unusual beauty, began to move swiftly about the map. "We must regard the Convention as the keep of a fortress that is besieged. There, in the Tuileries, it could not be better situated. From the south it can be approached only across the river by three bridges, Pont Neuf, Pont Royal, and Pont Louis XVI. They are easily held. To the west lie the gardens, giving us excellent fields of fire. To the east is the Palais du Louvre, by manning the windows of which we can deny the streets to columns advancing from that direction. One thousand of our men should be sufficient to hold each of those three sides. That leaves us five thousand for the north, and no greater number can be brought against us through the streets there opening on to the Rue St. Honore. Naturally, I should give additional protection to our most vulnerable side by establishing strong advance positions in the Place Venddme, the Cul-de-sac Dauphin, and other places north of the St Honor6; and I should hold a reserve against emergencies, including all our cavalry, in the Place du Carousel. With such dispositions I consider we could render the area that should be held, impregnable."

"All that is well enough," Barras commented. "But what if it develop into a regular siege? Within forty-eight hours our men would be out of ammunition, and starving."

"Citizen General! do you take me for a fool?" the little Corsican snapped. "Were I in command here a strong detachment would already be on its way to secure the heights of Meudon and the Arsenal there. By morning sufficient munitions could be brought in to keep us supplied for a month. The same applies to food. Troops should be sent at once to commandeer the main stocks in the depots and bring them to the Tuileries. I would, too, send arms to the Section Quinze-Vingts, which alone has supported the Convention. A rising of the patriots there could draw off considerable numbers of tho insurgents, and make our break-out the easier."

"You visualize a break-out then?"

"Sacre nom! Yes. What sort of general would contemplate sitting down to be shot at indefinitely? To entrench ourselves is only a temporary expedient forced on us by the superior numbers of the enemy. Our object is not to protect the Convention: it is to crush the insurrection. But for that we need cannon. Our one piece of good fortune is that the Sections were made to give up their cannon after the risings in the spring. They have none; and if we can bring in the batteries from the camp at Sablons we shall have the enemy at our mercy."

"No, no!" General Carteaux shook his head. "We could not use cannon on the people. God knows, during the past three years there has been enough fighting in the streets of Paris, but cannon has never been used by either side?'

"Where lies the difference between killing your fellow citizens with a pike or grape-shot?" asked Buonaparte acidly. "Personally I am against spilling any blood at all, if it can be avoided. In any case, whatever provocation may be given to the Convention's troops, they should be ordered to hold their fire until they have been fired upon.

But if fight we must, let us be sensible about it The more potent the weapons we use, the sooner it will be over and the fewer people will be killed. Without cannon I would wash my hands of this. But if given leave to make such dispositions as I wish, and to call in the batteries of artillery from the camp, I'd pledge my head to crush all opposition against the Convention before the week is out"

With a laugh, Barras brought a heavy hand down on the little man's shoulder. "That is the kind of. language it pleases me to hear. Go to it, then, Citizen Brigadier! Under me you shall handle tins thing; for I am convinced you will do it well. Give any orders you wish with my authority. I ask only that you should acquaint me with them."

Instantly the young Brigadier's face lit up. His thread-bare jacket ill-cleaned boots and slovenly appearance, which had earned him the nickname of 'the little ragamuffin', were forgotten at the sight of his flashing eyes, and the ringing tones of his heavily accented voice.

Seizing Barras's hand he wrung it; then, without a moment's hesitation he began to allocate duties to the officers round him. His first order was to a Major Murat: a tall, dark, grossly handsome cavalryman who, with the liberty about uniform usual in those days, had a large ostrich feather fixed in his busby. He was despatched with his squadron to fetch the forty cannon post-haste from the camp at Sablons. A Captain Marmont was sent with another squadron to seize the Arsenal at Meudon, and a Colonel Brune to follow him with a battalion of infantry and wagons to bring in ammunition.

The three future Marshals of France had scarcely hurried from the room before other officers were dashing after them to secure supplies of food and to establish strong points round the perimeter of the area that Buonaparte had decided to hold.

The command of the fifteen hundred sans-culottes had been given to a brave old General named Berruyer. To him Buonaparte gave the task of having barricades thrown up in the streets to the north of the Rue St Honore; then he turned to the senior of them all, General Carteaux, who was looking far from happy at seeing himself supplanted by a junior who till then had been reckoned of little importance, and said tactfully:

"For you, mon pere, I have reserved the place of the greatest danger and the greatest glory. It is certain that the insurgents will endeavour to reach the Tuileries by the shortest route, across the Pont Neuf. Take four hundred men and hold the bridge for us, if need be to the death."

The older man's expression changed instantly. Raising his hand in salute, he cried: "Rely upon me! They shall not pass!" And, snatch­ing up his hat be ran from the room.

It was now empty except for Barras, Roger, Buonaparte and his two young A.D.C.'s, Junot and Muiron. Barras waved a hand towards Roger and said:

"Do you know Citizen Breuc? He was with me on the night of 9th Thermidor, but was later made a prisoner by the English, and has only tonight got back to Paris after making his escape."

Buonaparte's sudden smile flashed out and he shook hands warmly with Roger. "Of course. I thought I knew your face, but could not for the moment place you, owing to the whiskers and moustache that you have grown. You were the Citizen Representant who led the charge against the Spanish redoubt at Toulon. Its early capture greatly facilitated our assault on Fort Mulgrave later that night; so yours was a valuable as well as gallant act"

Roger bowed. "I thank you, Citizen General. I see that since last we met your rapid promotion has continued. Allow me to congratulate you."

Making a wry face, Buonaparte replied: "All is not gold that glisters. I was given my present rank shortly after Toulon, and as Commander of the Artillery in General Massena's campaign into Italy proved that I knew my business; but for all the use it has been to me these past thirteen months I might as well have remained a captain."

"You surprise me. I should have thought that many employments could be found for a man of your obvious abilities."

"They could have been; but after Thermidor my friendship with the younger Robespierre was held against me. On my return from a diplomatic mission to the Republic of Genoa my countryman, the deputy Salicetti, from having been my patron turned against me, and as one means of whitewashing himself had me arrested."

"You were not confined for long," Barras put in with a shrug. "And whereas, after 1st PrairiaL Salicetti was forced to fly the country, you are still here; so it is foolish to continue to chew upon this year-old grievance."

"Ah, but I was deprived of my command, and have been given no other since," the young Corsican retorted bitterly. "For months, so that they might the more easily spy upon my comings and goings, they kept me here at a desk in the Topographical Office. What sort of work is that, for a soldier?"

"You were offered a command in La Vendee."

"Yes, as a means of testing my patriotism! But I prefer to kill Austrians, Sardinians and Englishmen to Frenchmen, whatever their political convictions. In any case, at the time, I was too ill to accept it"

"You have had the appearance of being ill ever since I first met you," Barras remarked shrewdly; "so it is not to be wondered at that certain people suspected the validity of your excuse."

"Excuse or no excuse, after my services at Toulon, Ventimiglia, Oneglia and at the Col di Tenda, they have treated me shamefully. Because of my refusal to go to Brittany I was struck off the list of Generals. I have no post, no pay, and am allowed a table in this office only on sufferance, because I have a gift for writing despatches, which others find a tiresome business."

"No matter," Barras said with a laugh. "Do you but handle this present crisis aright, and the Convention will let bygones be bygones. In a few hours die dawn of 13th Vendemiaire will break and the day may even prove the making of your fortune."

Those few hours seemed to go very swiftly, as staff officers and

orderlies hurried in and out bringing Buonaparte confirmation that his orders had been executed, or asking for further instructions where hitches had occurred. The Poisonniere Section stopped the consignment of arms that had been despatched to the 'patriots' of Quinze-Vingts, and that of Mont Blanc seized a convoy of provisions destined for the Tuileries; but otherwise everything went smoothly.

Roger had been in Paris during many of the major outbreaks of the Revolution, so knew well the pattern that they followed. First, for a few days, there were deputations to the Chamber, while street-corner agitators harangued anyone who would listen to them. Then processions paraded the streets demanding bread, and declaring that the Revolution had been betrayed. Finally several ill-co-ordinated mobs clashed with the equally ill-directed forces of a hesitant and jittery Authority. As brains and resolution played little part in the eventual clashes the side with the greater numbers emerged victorious. Therefore, according to precedent, the Convention was about to be overthrown.

But, as a witness of the night's skilful, systematic planning and its results, long before dawn Roger made up his mind that precedent could no longer be taken as a guide for this occasion. That unknown factor' of which Fouché had made passing mention had been produced by Barras in this seedy-looking little Corsican soldier who for the past year had remained unemployed and discredited.

By six o'clock his chances of succeeding in suppressing the insurrection were enormously strengthened. Murat, drenched to the skin and leaving pools of water behind him with every footstep, came stamping into the room. His thick lips parting in a grin, he told them that he had reached Les Sablons simultaneously with a battalion of National Guards from the Section Lepelletier, also sent to fetch the cannon. In the open plain the infantry had not dared to face a charge by his dragoons; so, after furious but useless protests, they had given way to him, and he now had forty cannon, with gunners and a good supply of ammunition, drawn up in the gardens of the Tuileries.

Buonaparte put on a shabby grey overcoat, stuck a round crowned black hat, which had an upturned brim in front, on the extreme back of his head, and declared his intention of making a round of the troops.

Barras, Roger was secretly amused to see, though happy to make use of the Corsican's abilities, had no intention of letting him get the lion's share of the credit for the arrangements he had made. Clapping his three-plumed hat on his hair that, to conceal its premature greyness, he had, m contemptuous defiance of the sans-culottes, kept powdered all through the Revolution, he said:

"As Commander-in-Chief, I will inspect our forces. Be good enough, Citizen Brigadier and the rest of you, to attend me."

During the next two hours, in the teeming rain, they rode from post to post. At each Barras spoke a few words of encouragement to the soldiers; and, depressed as they were from having stood about all night in the cold and wet, his resolute mode of address never failed to raise a cheer for the Convention.

The weather, apparently, had had an even more damping effect on the spirits of the insurgents; for, although their pickets continued to occupy buildings within musket shot of the Convention's troops, no major force of National Guards had as yet made its appearance. This delay gave Buonaparte still further time to strengthen his dis­positions, and as the morning wore on without event it looked as if the day might pass without any major clash occurring.

By midday the weather eased and strong columns of the insurgents began to surround the whole of the defended area. General Danican, who had been given the principal command of them, feeling certain of victory owing to his greatly superior numbers, but anxious to avoid bloodshed if possible, then sent an A.D.C. under a flag of truce to offer terms to the Convention. The officer was blindfolded and taken by Barras and Buonaparte into the Assembly Hall, where, after threatening the Deputies, he offered them peace if they would disarm the 'patriots and rescind the decrees of Fructidor.