Chauvelin had always been trusted and respected. His services in
connection with the foreign affairs of the Revolutionary Government had
been invaluable, both before and since the beginning of the European
War. At one time he formed part of that merciless decemvirate
which--with Robespierre at its head--meant to govern France by laws of
bloodshed and of unparalleled ferocity.

But the sea-green Incorruptible had since tired of him, then had
endeavoured to push him on one side, for Chauvelin was keen and clever,
and, moreover, he possessed all those qualities of selfless patriotism
which were so conspicuously lacking in Robespierre.

His failure in bringing that interfering Scarlet Pimpernel to justice
and the guillotine had completed Chauvelin's downfall. Though not
otherwise molested, he had been left to moulder in obscurity during this
past year. He would soon enough have been completely forgotten.

Now he was not only to be given one more chance to regain public favour,
but he had demanded powers which in consideration of the aim in
view, Robespierre himself could not refuse to grant him. But the
Incorruptible, ever envious and jealous, would not allow him to exult
too soon.

With characteristic blandness he seemed to be entering into all
Chauvelin's schemes, to be helping in every way he could, for there
was something at the back of his mind which he meant to say to the
ex-ambassador, before the latter took his leave: something which
would show him that he was but on trial once again, and which would
demonstrate to him with perfect clearness that over him there hovered
the all-powerful hand of a master.

"You have but to name the sum you want, Citizen Chauvelin," said the
Incorruptible, with an encouraging smile, "the government will not stint
you, and you shall not fail for lack of authority or for lack of funds."

"It is pleasant to hear that the government has such uncounted wealth,"
remarked Chauvelin with dry sarcasm.

"Oh! the last few weeks have been very profitable," retorted
Robespierre; "we have confiscated money and jewels from emigrant
royalists to the tune of several million francs. You remember the
traitor Juliette Marny, who escape to England lately? Well! her mother's
jewels and quite a good deal of gold were discovered by one of our most
able spies to be under the care of a certain Abbe Foucquet, a calotin
from Boulogne--devoted to the family, so it seems."

"Yes?" queried Chauvelin indif