“It was inevitable, Citizen Pochart,” Chauvelin broke in dryly. “Orders from Paris, you know—”
“I was just proposing to Citizen Pochart,” Danou put in mildly, “that we send a message to Paris by this new aerial telegraph to ask for further orders. There is one installed at Avignon, and a courier—”
“The aerial telegraph is required for more important business than yours, Citizen Danou,” Chauvelin once more broke in, and this time with some impatience.
“What can be more important than the suppression of traitors?” Pochart argued with an obvious sneer. “I marvel at you, citizen representative, that you should think otherwise.”
“The very latest decree of the National Convention,” Danou added, “was that Terror be the order of the day. I too marvel at you, Citizen Chauvelin.”
“There is no cause for marvel,” Chauvelin rejoined with well assumed indifference. “I have not been in Orange more than a few hours. I have not had time to devise for this new situation.”
“Well then, tomorrow, citizen,” Danou suggested, “will you be ready to consult with us on the best means of meeting this impossible situation? Otherwise, I am still of the opinion that the aerial telegraph, or perhaps a courier to Paris—”
He went on mumbling for a few seconds. His tone had been quite suave, not to say deferential; but Chauvelin’s keen ear had not failed to detect the threat that lurked behind those smooth, velvety tones.
“Tomorrow, as you say,” he concluded dryly.
All through the wearisome journey back from Valence he had been busy scheming and planning; alternately adopting and rejecting one plan after another. He knew well enough that Pochart and Danou were stalking him like wild beasts, ready to pounce on him, to come to grips with him in a life and death struggle in which his darling Fleurette would also be involved.
Now after his interview with the two men, he knew that already they scented victory, that they too were scheming and planning, planning his overthrow, and using Fleurette as the deadliest weapon against him. These last three years of titanic struggle of man against man, of the strong against the weak, of the weak against the strong, had taught him that he could expect nothing, neither mercy nor consideration, from enemies whom he himself would never have hesitated to sacrifice to his own whim or his own tyranny. His only hope lay in his avowedly superior brain power. He no longer could dominate these snarling wild beasts, now that they were showing their fangs, but he could outwit them, before they sprang and devoured him. Brainpower as against blind lust. And Chauvelin thought that he could win.
XXVII
Representative Chauvelin was quite calm, businesslike, armed with sheaves of papers and documents, when he met his colleagues the following morning in the bureau of the Committee.
“I have found,” he announced as soon as they were seated, “a solution to our difficulty.”
“Ah?” Danou ejaculated simply. And Pochart also said “Ah,” but in a different tone.
“I have here,” Chauvelin continued, and selected an official document from the pile which he had deposited upon the table. “I have here a decree which exactly meets our case. It was promulgated by the National Convention on the motion of Citizen Cabot on the 6th of Brumaire last.”
Leaning back in his chair, he began to read from the official document in his hand. The others, elbows on table, chin cupped in hand, listened with what we might call mixed feelings.
“Should it occur that through any cause whatsoever, one of the chief officers of State be absent from duty for a period exceeding seven days, the Representative on special mission shall then assume his functions and continue to discharge them for as long as seems expedient. And in the event of more than one important officer of State being so absent, the Representative on special mission shall himself appoint a substitute who will also discharge such duties as the Representative on special mission shall have assigned to him for the time being.”
Having finished reading, Chauvelin put the document down, and with a gesture of finality let his thin, claw-like hand rest upon it.
“The decree is clear enough, methinks,” he said coldly.
There was a pause. A silence lasting perhaps thirty seconds; then Danou said mildly:
“I have never heard of this decree.”
“Nor I,” Pochart echoed.
“The Central Committee in Paris,” Chauvelin put in drily, “has often remarked on the strange ignorance displayed by avowed patriots, of the decrees promulgated for the welfare of the State. The Committee deems that such ignorance almost amounts to treason.”
“May I look at the document?” Danou rejoined simply, choosing to ignore the reprimand—and the thinly-veiled threat.
“Certainly,” Chauvelin replied, and handed the document over to his colleague.
“Is it a copy?” Pochart asked, looking over his friend’s shoulder.
“An attested copy, as you can see,” Chauvelin replied. “It is countersigned by Citizens Robespierre, Billaud, Couthon and Saint Just. You are not thinking of disputing the order, Citizen Danou?”
Once more and still that arrogance, those veiled threats. The situation being entirely different from what it was yesterday, Danou and Pochart dared not persist in their mood of defiance. Not before they had consulted one another, marshalled those forces—Godet, Adèle, the proofs against the wench Fleurette—and decided on the mode of attack. Representative Chauvelin must have something up his sleeve, some hidden power, or he would not be so arrogant, so threatening.
Danou wiped the sweat from his bald cranium and handed the document back to Chauvelin. Pochart shaking himself like a wet dog, returned to his seat.
“I’ll take over the office of President Legrange,” Chauvelin said calmly, “and preside over the Tribunal until his return.”
“Then I,” Danou put in boldly, “had best take over the work of the Public Prosecutor.”
“Impossible, citizen,” Chauvelin rejoined firmly; “I must have a lawyer for that office.”
“But—”
“You do not seem to have listened very carefully, Citizen Danou,”
