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André-Louis and the Baron dined that afternoon with Benoît, the wealthy Angévin banker in the Rue des Orties.

In Benoît's well-appointed establishment, as in his own well-nourished, hearty person, there was little to proclaim the levelling doctrines of democracy, of which he enjoyed the reputation of being a pillar. If his movements, gestures, accent, and turn of speech, and the very gravity of his bonhomie, suggested a plebeian origin, he yet bore himself with a general air of genial consequence. He was a man to whom wealth had brought assurance and self-confidence and the poise permitted by a sense of security. Nor was this security shaken by the successive earthquakes that disturbed the Nation, and in the course of which men of birth and quality were being constantly engulfed. Together with the millions in his safes there was that which in these unquiet and dangerous times amounted to an even more precious treasure in the shape of records of transactions on behalf of some of the architects of the revolution. There was no party in the State some of whose members had not operated through Benoît and profited by the operations to an extent the revelation of which might imperil their heads. Recommended to him one by another, they had come to regard him as a 'safe man.' And Benoît on his side knew himself for a safe man in another sense, since he held these patriots as hostages for his safety.

Benoît could have told the world the precise reason for Danton's anxiety to decree the sacredness of property; he could have explained exactly how the great tribune and powerful apostle of equality was becoming so considerable a landowner in the district of Arcis. He could have disclosed how that dishonest deputy Philippe Fabre, who called himself d'Églantine, had made thirty-six thousand livres on a government contract for army boots whose cardboard soles had quickly gone to pieces. He could have shown how Lacroix and at least a dozen other national representatives, who a couple of years ago had been starveling lawyers were now able to take their ease and keep their horses.

But Benoît was a 'safe man,' and to make assurance doubly sure he wasted no opportunity of adding to his precious hostages. Like a fat financial spider he span his stout web in the Rue des Orties and enmeshed in it many a peculative fly from among all these hungry, avid politicians, most of whom, in the opinion of de Batz, merely required to be tempted so as to succumb.

Of all de Batz's associates in this campaign of mine and sap which André-Louis had devised, none was more highly prized than Benoît of Angers. And since de Batz had shown him that the advantage of their association could be reciprocal, Benoît prized the Baron as highly in his turn. Also, being a man of some shrewd vision, it is probable that he reposed no faith in the perdurance of the present régime. Whilst avoiding politics, he saw to it, as a prudent man of affairs, that he possessed friends in both camps.

Today's invitation to dinner was no idle act of courtesy. Benoît's compatriot Delaunay, the representative for Angers in the National Convention, was to be of the party. Delaunay was in need of money. He had just succumbed to the charms of Mademoiselle Descoings the actress. But the Descoings was not to be cheaply acquired even by a national representative. She had lately learnt a lesson on the subject. For a brief season she had been the mistress of that coarse scoundrel François Chabot, dazzled at first by his prominence in the party of the Mountain. Intimate acquaintance with him had revealed to her that the effulgence of his deputyship was far from compensating for the unpleasantness of his habits and the sordid circumstances in which the lack of money compelled him to live. So she had gone her ways, and Delaunay was now discovering to his torment that the association with Chabot had taught her to be exacting and exigent.

Now the Deputy Delaunay, a very personable, insinuating man of forty, was shrewd enough to perceive the opportunities which his position afforded him, and, if he might have had scruples about making use of them, these were entirely stifled by his need of the Descoings. But to make money in the operations of which he perceived the chance, it is necessary to have money and Delaunay disposed of none. So he had sought his Angévin compatriot Benoît for the necessary financial assistance.

Benoît was not attracted by the partnership. He perceived, however, that it might meet certain requirements of de Batz, which the Baron had cautiously mentioned to him.

'I know a man,' he said, 'who commands ample funds, and who is always on the alert for precisely such affairs as you have in mind. I think you and he might very well accommodate yourselves. Come and dine with me one day next week, and make his acquaintance.'

Delaunay had readily accepted the invitation, and de Batz found the representative awaiting him when, with André-Louis, he was ushered into the banker's well-appointed parlour.

A man of great vigour and energy this Delaunay, as was to be seen at a glance. A little above middle height, he was massively built, with an enormous breadth of shoulders. His features were neat, and his mouth so small that it lent an almost infantile character to his smooth, round, healthily coloured face, and this despite the grey of his thick, clustering hair which was innocent of powder. But there was nothing infantile in the keenness of the intensely blue eyes under their black eyebrows or in the massive, intelligent forehead.

The banker, tall, florid, inclining to middle-aged portliness, and dressed with care from his powdered head to his buckled shoes, breezily conducted them to table.

There was no evidence here of the scarcity of food that was beginning to trouble Paris. A dish of trout stewed in red wine was followed by a succulent goose à l'Angévine with truffles from Périgord, to the accompaniment of a well-sunned, and well-matured wine of Bordeaux, which Delaunay praised in terms allusive to the events of the day.

'One might almost forgive the men of the Gironde for the sake of the grapes they grow.' He held his glass to the light as he spoke, and the glance of those intensely blue eyes grew tender as it surveyed the murrey-tinted wine. He sighed. 'Poor devils!' he said, and drank.

The Baron raised his brows in wonder, for Delaunay was staunchly of the Mountain party. 'You pity them?'

'We can afford to pity those who are no longer able to harm or hinder us.' The representative's voice was softly modulated; but, like the rest of him, suggested great reserves of power. 'Compassion is at times a luxury; especially when accompanied by relief. Now that the Girondins are broken, I can say: "poor devils!" with a clear conviction that it is much better that we should say it of them than that they should say it of us.'

Not until dinner was done, and an Armagnac had come to succeed the Bordeaux, did the banker break the ice of the business for them, making himself the advocate of his compatriot.

'I have told the citizen-representative, my dear de Batz, that you are a considerable man of affairs, and that you are particularly interested in the purchase of large lots of confiscated émigré property so as to break it up and sell it again piecemeal. I do not need to tell you that the Citizen Delaunay could be of great assistance to you by virtue of the information he receives in his capacity as a representative.'

'Ah, no! Ah, no! That I must correct!' The deputy was all virtuous eagerness. 'A misconception were so easily formed. I do not say ... I do not think that it would amount to an abuse of trust if I took advantage of knowledge gained as a result of my position in the government. After all, it is a recognized practice, not only in France, but elsewhere. This, however, is not the knowledge that I offer. It is a malicious world, and a man's actions, especially the actions of a man of State, are so easily misunderstood or misinterpreted. The knowledge that I offer, then, is the quite exceptional knowledge of land values. I am country bred, and all my life the land has been my particular study. It is this knowledge that I offer, you understand, citizen.'

'Oh, but perfectly, 'said de Batz. 'Perfectly. Do not give yourself the trouble of explaining further. As for your knowledge of land values, it is no doubt exceptional; but then, so is mine; otherwise I should never have embarked upon these transactions. I must regret, of course, that where the association might be of value to me, it is withheld by certain scruples which I must not presume to criticize.'

'Do you mean that you consider them without foundation in reality?' said Delaunay, as if asking to be persuaded of the fact.

De Batz excluded all persuasiveness from his reply. 'I do not perceive who would suffer by the use of the information which it would be in your power to supply. And it is my view that, where no suffering is inflicted, no scruples can be tenable. But a man's conscience is a delicate, sensitive thing. I am far from wishing to offer arguments against sentiments which are conscientious.'

Delaunay fell gloomily thoughtful. 'Do you know,' he said, 'that you have presented a point of view that had never occurred to me?'

'That I can perfectly understand,' said the Baron in the tone of one who finds a subject tedious and desires to drop it.

And dropped it might have been if André-Louis had not thought that it was time for him to take a hand.

'It may help you, Citizen-Representative, if you reflect that these transactions are actually of advantage to the State, which thus finds a ready purchaser for the properties it seeks to liquidate.'

'Ah, yes!' Delaunay was as eager now as he had appeared reluctant before. 'That is true. Very true. It is an aspect I had not regarded.'

Across the table Benoît winked slyly at de Batz.

'Let me turn it over in my mind, Citizen de Batz, and then perhaps we might discuss the matter anew.'

The Baron remained cool. 'If it should be your pleasure,' he said in a tone of maddening indifference.

Walking home that evening, to the Rue de Ménars, André-Louis was in excellent spirits.

'That fish will bite,' he said. 'You may land him when you will, Jean.'

'I perceived it. But, after all, he's small fry, André. I aim at bigger things.'

'The big things are to be reached by stages. Not all at once, Jean. Impatience never helps. A small fish, this Delaunay. Agreed. But he may serve us as a bait for bigger ones. Do not despise him. To change the metaphor, use him as the first rung of the ladder by which we are to scale the Mountain. Or, to change it yet again, let him be the first of the sheep to show the way through the gap.'

'To the devil with your metaphors!'

'Bear them in mind, none the less.'

They reached No. 7 in the Rue de Ménars. De Batz opened the wicket in the porte-cochère and they entered the courtyard of the unpretentious house. Within, sitting on the steps, they found a burly, shabby fellow in a cocked hat too big for him, set off by an imposing tricolour cockade. He rose at sight of them, knocking the ashes from the short clay pipe he had been smoking.

'The Citizen Jean de Batz, heretofore Baron de Batz?' he challenged truculently.

'I am Jean de Batz. Who are you?'

'Burlandeux is my name. Officer of the municipal police.' His tone lent a sinister quality to the announcement.

The Baron was not impressed. 'Your business, citizen-municipal?'

The fellow's unclean face was grim. 'I have some questions to put to you. We should be better above. But as you please.'

'Above, by all means.' The Baron spoke indifferently. 'I trust you are not to waste my time, citizen.'

'As to that, we shall see presently.'

They went up to the first floor, André-Louis through his uneasiness admiring the Baron's perfect deportment. De Batz knocked, and the door was instantly opened by Biret-Tissot, his servant, a wisp of a man with a lean, olive face, keen, dark eyes and the wide mouth of a comedian.

De Batz led the way into a small salon, Burlandeux following and André-Louis bringing up the rear. The municipal would have checked him, but de Batz intervened. 'This is my friend, the Citizen Moreau. You may speak freely before him. God be praised, I have no secrets. Close the door, André. Now, citizen-municipal, I am at your service.'

Burlandeux advanced deliberately into the elegant little salon, with its gilded furniture, soft carpet, and Sèvres pieces set before the oval mirror on the overmantel. He took his stand with his back to the long, narrow window.

'Moreau, eh? Why, yes. He was named to me as your associate.'

'Correctly named,' said de Batz. 'And then?'

Before that peremptoriness Burlandeux came straight to business. 'You've been denounced to me, citizen ci-devant, for anti-civism. I learn that you hold meetings here of persons who are none too well regarded by the Nation.'

'With what purpose is it alleged that I hold these meetings?'

'That is what I have come to ask you. When you've answered me, I shall know whether to lay the information before the Committee of Public Safety. Let me see your card, citizen.'

De Batz at once produced the identity-card issued by the section in which he resided, a card which under a recent enactment every citizen was compelled to procure.

'Yours, citizen?' the municipal demanded of André-Louis with autocratic curtness.

Both cards were perfectly in order, having been issued to their owners by Pottier de Lille, the secretary of the section, who was in the Baron's pay. Burlandeux returned them without comment. Their correctness, however, did not dismay him.

'Well, citizens, what have you to say? You'll not pretend to be patriots in these dainty, pimpish lodgings.'

André-Louis laughed in his face. 'You are under the common delusion, my friend, that dirt is a proof of patriotism. If that were so, you would be a great patriot.'

Burlandeux became obscene. 'You take this —— tone with me, do you? Ah, that! But we shall have to look into your —— affairs. You have been denounced to me as agents of a —— foreign power.'

It was de Batz who answered coolly. 'Ah! Members of the Austrian Committee, no doubt.' This was an allusion to a mare's nest which some months earlier had brought into ridicule the Representative Chabot, who claimed to have discovered it.

'By God, if you are amusing yourself at my expense, you'd better remember he laughs best who laughs last. Come, now, my fine fellows. Am I to denounce you, or will you show me reason why I shouldn't?'

'What reason would satisfy you?' wondered de Batz.

'These —— meetings that are held here? If they are not for treasonable purposes, what are they?'

'Am I the only man in Paris to receive visitors?'

'Visitors! Oh, visitors! But these are not ordinary visitors. They come too often, and always at the same time, and they are always the same. That's my information. No use to deny it. No use to tell me any of your lies.'

The Baron's manner changed. 'Will you leave by the door, or shall we throw you from the window?'

The cool, incisive tone acted like a douche upon the burly municipal. He fell back a pace and drew himself up.

'Ah, name of a name! My damned little aristocrat ...'

The Baron threw wide the door of the salon to interrupt him. 'Outside, you filth! Back to your dunghill! At the double! March!'

'Holy Guillotine! We shall see if you talk like that when you come before the Committee.' The purple municipal moved to the door, deliberately so as to save his dignity. 'You shall be taught a lesson, you cursed traitors, with your aristocratic airs and graces. My name is Burlandeux. You'll remember that.'

He was gone. They heard the outer door slam after him. André-Louis smiled deprecation.

'That is not quite how I should have handled him.'

'It is not at all how he should have been handled. He should have been thrown from the window without warning. An indelicate fellow! Let him go before the Committee. Sénard will do his business.'

'I would have given Sénard definite grounds upon which to deal with him if you had been less precipitate. However, that will be for another time. For he will certainly return to the assault. You should curb your humours, Jean.'

'Curb my humours before an obscenity like that!' The Baron snorted. 'Well, well! Where is Langéac.'

He summoned Tissot. Monsieur de Langéac had not yet arrived. The Baron glanced at the Sèvres timepiece and muttered an oath of exasperation.

'What's to astonish you?' wondered André-Louis. 'The young gentleman is never punctual. A very unsatisfactory fellow, Jean, this Langéac. If he's typical of the tools d'Entragues employs, it is not surprising that the Regent's credit prospers so little in the courts of Europe. Myself, I should be sorry to have him for my valet.'

To aggravate his offence, when Langéac arrived at last, out of breath, he came startlingly brave in a coat of black stripes on a yellow ground, and a cravat that André-Louis likened unkindly to an avalanche.

'You want to take the eye, it seems. You'll be taking that of the National Widow. She has a taste in over-coquettish young gentlemen.'

Langéac was annoyed. He had long since conceived a dislike for André-Louis whose sneers he had earned every time he deserved them, which was often. 'You don't dress like a sans-culotte, yourself.'

'Nor yet like a zebra. It's well enough in a virgin forest, but a little conspicuous in Paris for a gentleman whose pursuits should make him study self-effacement. Have you heard of a revolution in France? No wonder municipal officers grow suspicious of the ci-devant Baron de Batz on the score of his visitors.'

Langéac replied with vague invective, and so came under the condemnation of de Batz.

'Moreau is right. That coat is an advertisement of anti-civism. A conspirator should be circumspect in all things.'

'For a gentleman,' said the fatuous Langéac, 'there are limits to circumspection.'

'But none for a fool,' said André-Louis.

'I resent that, Moreau! You are insufferable! Insufferable, do you understand?'

'If you will make transcendentally foolish statements, by way of justifying transcendentally foolish actions, can you expect congratulations? But I am sorry you find me insufferable.'

'And, anyway,' said de Batz, 'shall we come to business? I am supposing that you will have something to report. Have you seen Cortey?'

The question recalled Langéac from his annoyance. 'I have just left him. The affair is for Friday night.'

De Batz and André-Louis stiffened into attention. Langéac supplied details.

'Cortey will be on guard at the Temple from midnight with twenty men, every one of whom he swears he can trust, and Michonis will be on duty in the Queen's prison and ready for us. Cortey has seen him. Michonis answers for it that the other municipals will be out of the way. Cortey would like a final word with you on the arrangements as soon as may be.'

'Naturally,' said de Batz. 'I'll see him tomorrow. We've two days, and at need we could be ready in two hours.'

'Is there anything for me to do?' asked Langéac, his manner still a little sulky.

'Nothing now. You will be of Moreau's party, to cover the retreat. You will assemble in the Rue Charlot at eleven o'clock. See that you are punctual. We shall convey the royal ladies and the Dauphin to Roussel's in the Rue Helvétius for the night, and we shall hope to get them out of Paris a day or two later. But I will attend to all that. For you nothing more now, Langéac, until eleven o'clock on Friday night.'