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,” Chauvelin broke in quietly, “to my reading of the decree, or you would remember that it is for the representative on special mission to appoint a substitute, in case of absence on the part of a second important officer of State.”
“And whom do you propose to appoint, citizen representative?” Pochart inquired with a sneer.
“I will let you know my decision as to that tomorrow.”
“The sooner the better, citizen representative,” Danou concluded unctuously. “Remember that it is my colleague and I of the 137th section of the Committee of Public Safety who will have to collect the evidence against the accused and place it before the Public Prosecutor whom you will appoint. That is a duty from which only the Central Committee can relieve us. There are one hundred and sixty prisoners,” he went on slowly, “arrested under the Law of the Suspect. Some of them gravely accused, and by witnesses too.”
“I am well aware of that, Citizen Danou,” Chauvelin replied calmly. Not by the quiver of an eyelid did he betray the fact that the shaft had gone home. With a perfectly steady hand he collected his papers and placed a weight upon them. After which he dismissed the others with a curt nod.
“Your pardon, citizens,” he said, “I have still work to do. You too doubtless. I shall require your attendance here tomorrow at this same hour.”
When the door had finally closed behind the two men, the mask fell from Chauvelin’s face. Leaning his elbow on the table, he buried his burning head in his hands; a heartrending groan broke from his parched lips, his eyes felt as if seared with glowing charcoal. Ah! if he had not only forgotten these years past how to pray, what fervent orisons would he not have sent heavenwards at this hour. Help! where could he find help out of this web which his enemies had woven round him? How he hated them! longed to smite them before they had time to accomplish their fell purpose. They had determined on striking at Fleurette. Out of revenge or hatred, or was it fear? they had determined on striking at him, Chauvelin, through this being whom he loved beyond everything in the world. And he who had been one of the first protagonists of hatred and revenge and mutual distrust, he who had the will and the power, seemed so inextricably enmeshed that he could do nothing to save her. Fight? he would fight, inch by inch, step by step. Fight to save his Fleurette. Fight while he had breath in his body; fight until he fell vanquished by her side. For if he failed he would not let her die alone. He could not think of her being dragged through the streets in that awful tumbril which he himself had so often helped to fill; could not—heavens above no—could not think of her mounting the steps of the guillotine, which so many innocent feet had mounted at his bidding. Retribution! It had come nearer, more inexorable now! Death by his Fleurette’s side seemed the only possible issue. And even as he sat there alone, in that room wherein the hatred of his fellow-men seemed still to linger like noisome ghosts, a pale ray of sunlight found its way through the closed window and played upon the myriads and myriads of dust atoms that hovered in the air. Chauvelin’s hands dropped down upon the table. His weary eyes rested vacantly upon that shaft of dust-laden light. And inside its very heart he saw a face, smiling and debonair, with lazy eyes and smiling lips mocking him in his grief. It was a vision, gone as soon as seen, but vivid enough during that one brief second to bring a savage curse upon the lonely man’s lips. His claw-like hand clenched so tightly that the knuckles shone like polished ivory.
“My evil genius!” he muttered through his teeth. “Had I succeeded in bringing you down, had I seen that mocking head fall under the guillotine, this devastating misery would never have come upon me. If only I could be even with you. I would die happier—even now.”