in touch with you, friend Heron.
I'll call on you again this day fortnight."

He took out a letter-case from his pocket. Out of this he drew a packet
of bank-notes, which he laid on the table in front of Heron, then he
placed the receipt carefully into the letter-case, and this back into
his pocket.

Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The light
of ferocity had entirely gone from his eyes; momentarily the whole
expression of the face was one of satisfied greed.

"Well!" he said at last when he had assured himself that the number
of notes was quite correct, and he had transferred the bundle of crisp
papers into an inner pocket of his coat--"well, what about your friend?"

"I knew him years ago," rejoined de Batz coolly; "he is a kinsman of
citizen St. Just. I know that he is one of the confederates of the
Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Where does he lodge?"

"That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and afterwards
in the green-room; he was making himself agreeable to the citizeness
Lange. I heard him ask for leave to call on her to-morrow at four
o'clock. You know where she lodges, of course!"

He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap of
paper, then he quietly rose to go. He took up his cloak and once again
wrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more to be said, and
he was anxious to go.

The leave-taking between the two men was neither cordial nor more than
barely courteous. De Batz nodded to Heron, who escorted him to the
outside door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a soldier who
was doing sentinel at the further end of the corridor.

"Show this citizen the way to the guichet," he said curtly. "Good-night,
citizen," he added finally, nodding to de Batz.

Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue du
Temple between the great outer walls of the prison and the silent
little church and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where in the
central tower a small grated window lighted from within showed the
place where the last of the Bourbons was being taught to desecrate the
traditions of his race, at the bidding of a mender of shoes--a naval
officer cashiered for misconduct and fraud.

Such is human nature in its self-satisfied complacency that de Batz,
calmly ignoring the vile part which he himself had played in the last
quarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee's agent, found
it in him to think of Her