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"I now remember, Sir," answered the First Consul sternly, "and the pledge I gave you, but I little guessed that I should be reminded of it in such circumstances as the present. I did not expect that, in the fulfillment of my promise, I should be called upon to save a would-be assassin, and a deserter from his colors from the penalty of his crimes. But I will respect my word, Sir; your life is spared. See that you make a worthier use of it in the future." Then, in a voice of thunder, he concluded, "But have a care, Sir, have a care, lest you try my patience and forbearance beyond their limits. Never again put that trinket to so vile a use, or I fear me you will find that it has lost its virtue. Nay, I marvel that, on this occasion, you should have shielded yourself with its protection. A brave man dishonored, is glad to hide his dishonor in the grave."

The countenance he turned upon St. Just was awful in its sternness and contempt, and the confusion and abasement of the wretched man were piteous to behold. He bent his head to his chest, and trembled in every limb, and his face rivaled in its pallor even Buonaparte's. The scathing words of the First Consul had so affected him that, for the moment, he felt that death itself would have been preferable, and regretted that the talisman had been employed to save his life. His breath came hard and fast, and he made several ineffectual attempts to speak; at last he gasped out:

"Sir I thank you for your clemency. I am so bewildered, so abashed, I despise myself so much, that I can scarce find words. I can only say—you have spared my life, do with it what you will."

Buonaparte eyed him searchingly. From his inscrutable expression it was impossible to judge whether St. Just's words and manner had affected him.

"And what guarantee have I of your future behavior?" he replied. "Wait here."

He signed to Talleyrand, and they left the room together.

Ten minutes passed, during which St. Just, in some measure, recovered his composure. At the end of that time, they returned, and Buonaparte, without referring to his last question and without noticing St. Just walked across the room and placed his back against the marble mantelpiece. Then he began to kick with his heel the smouldering embers in the grate.

Meanwhile Talleyrand addressed St. Just. "You will proceed to England with the utmost speed, and there make it your business to become acquainted with a certain Sir Henry Emerson. He is a King's Messenger, and we have information that he will be setting out next week for Holland with dispatches. It is of vital importance that we should know their purport. It will be for you, when on the spot, to devise the best means of bringing this about. Take copies of them, if you can, and restore them without his knowledge; but, if this should be impossible, secure the papers, and let me have them without a moment's loss of time. You may not be able to achieve your purpose before Sir Henry Emerson has set cut; if so, you must dog his footsteps until you do succeed. Don't be too nice about the methods you employ: use bribery, violence, anything so that you do not fail.

"On reaching London, you will go instantly to the house of one Perry, a hosier at this address"—he handed it to St. Just—"and ask 'where you can get the best bees.' If the man laughs at you, go away, for he is not the right person; but try again later. If to your inquiry he reply that he is a large bee farmer himself, you may state your business freely, and he will give you every assistance. He is keeping a watch on the movements of this King's Messenger.

"Here are ten thousand francs." He handed him a bundle of notes. "You can change them, according to your requirements into English money at a money changer's. Perry will see to that for you. Should you require more, apply to him, and he will give it to you."

A clock on the mantelpiece struck two. St. Just was surprised to find it was so late; his drive to this house must have taken hours. It puzzled him to know where he was; not in Paris, clearly.

"You have had your instructions, Sir," said the First Consul, speaking for the first time, since his second entrance into the room, "and will start at once; and, as you value your life, be true. Another act of treachery, and nothing shall protect you."

St. Just stepped forward, and was beginning to renew his protestations of fidelity and gratitude, when Buonaparte waved him back and, with a frown, walked rapidly from the room.

Then Talleyrand addressed St. Just. "To-morrow, at eleven, you will start for Boulogne. There you will embark on the La Flèche. You have a fair knowledge of English, I understand. You will pass as the Comte St. Clair. Live as the others do—not ostentatiously, but don't grudge expenditure, when needful. Return the moment you have achieved the object of your mission.

"One last injunction; don't go to Auteuil, before you start."

He looked meaningly at St. Just. "Ah, you meant to; don't."

He touched a bell and an attendant entered.

"Captain Beaumont," he said.

The man withdrew and, in a few seconds, that officer stood before him.

"You will escort Mons. St. Just in a carriage to his apartment."

He bowed to both men and they left the room. Five minutes afterwards they quitted Malmaison and took the road to Paris.

CHAPTER VI

It was hard on daybreak when St. Just reached his lodging in the Rue de Dauphin, and the people in the house were not yet up; but the summons at the door soon aroused them. His landlord was at first disposed to be unfriendly, but when he saw the handsome carriage and horses, the liveries of the coachman and footman, and the officer in uniform who had accompanied his lodger, he made no ado about admitting him, and became almost fulsome in his words of welcome. The belief of the worthy couple had been that St. Just had been spending his week's absence in the country; and they had been confirmed in it by a beautiful lady who had driven up in a carriage and told them that it was so. She had also interviewed his servant Mahmoud, whom it appeared, she knew, and had taken him away with her.

Before going she had left a note for St. Just; and this was all they had to tell him.

Halima's note contained but these few words:—

"Am quite well. We shall meet again soon. I have taken Mahmoud with me. I know you will not want him for the present.

Then, Halima guessed, if she did not positively know, of his coming journey to England.

His preparations did not take him long, and he left Paris at the time Talleyrand had ordered him to start, and reached Boulogne on the evening of the following day. He soon found the La Flèche, a small vessel, at anchor in the harbor. He presented himself to the captain as the Comte St. Clair, according to instructions, and handed him papers authorizing his passage to England.

The next morning, so soon as it was light, they moved out of the harbor, but the breeze was so light, and what there was of it, so unfavorable to their course, that they had to keep continually tacking; thus it was night before they sighted the shores of England. As it was, they were taken somewhat out of their course, and the nearest port was Shoreham; this they made. St. Just was landed in a sir all boat a short distance from the port itself, which, indeed, at that time, was little more than a cluster of cottages—a hamlet; though now a town of some importance.

Taking his small bag in his hand—for he had not cared to encumber himself with luggage, intending to supply himself in London with such clothing as he required—he began to make his way across the sandy flats that intervened between the shore and the high road, meaning, on gaining Shoreham, to obtain some means of conveyance to Brighton, and thence to take the coach to London. He was told that, by bearing direct northwards from the sea, he would soon hit the road.

The night was dark, for there was no moon, and but a few stars were to be seen; but that his way was so direct, he would not have attempted it without a guide. Not a sound was to be heard, not even the fall of his own feet, for the sand and the tufts of coarse grass that dotted it formed a soft carpet that made his footsteps noiseless. But walking was somewhat arduous; the more so that he had to feel his way, or he would have fallen, for the ground was full of little mounds and hollows. His progress, accordingly, was slow.

He went stumbling along, but never actually falling and had made about half the distance to the road, when, all at once, close by his ear, he heard the words shouted in a strident voice, "Here he is, lads!" and, the next moment, received a violent blow on the head that felled him to the ground, and, before he had so much as seen his assailant, he was stretched insensible on the sand.

When he recovered consciousness, he found himself in a low, scantily and rudely furnished room, which, from the nets and ropes that hung against the walls and lay in heaps upon the floor, proclaimed its owner to be a fisherman. With the feeling, so common to us all when sleeping, and some one is approaching us, he felt that he was being watched, and he opened his eyes. A rough-looking, middle-aged man was bending over him, scrutinizing him intently, with an expression of mingled anxiety and alarm. But, when the Frenchman opened his eyes, that were now lighted with intelligence, the fisherman's strained look relaxed, and a smile of satisfaction took its place.

"Glad to see you coming round, Sir," he said cheerily. "You'll soon be all right now; but I was mortal feared once; I began to think you were going to turn it up. How are you feeling, Sir?"

St. Just looked at him inquiringly, and with some alarm, as one does at unexpectedly finding oneself in an unknown place and in the presence of a stranger; but the man, though rough, looked kindly and good-natured; so that St. Just's anxiety was but brief.

"My head aches badly here," he answered; and he put his hand at the back part of his crown. The action made him wince; the place felt so tender.

"I must have fallen, or been struck. What has happened? Where am I? Who are you?" Then before the other could reply, he resumed, "Ah, I remember now; I was crossing the sands and some one knocked me down. Was it you, and if so, why?"

"No, it wasn't me, Sir," replied the man, "and it was all a mistake." He went on to explain that, in the dark, St. Just had been mistaken for some one against whom his son had a grudge, and been knocked down in consequence. On discovering the mistake, he and his son had brought him to their cabin. He now expressed his sorrow and asked how he could serve St. Just.

"I am much obliged to you," replied St. Just dryly. "Suppose you lend me a hand to help me up, for I am still weak and dizzy."

The man gave him his hand willingly, and raised his visitor to a sitting posture on the bed. St. Just rubbed his eyes, then let them wander round the room. From the appearance of the roof and walls, and from the thunder of the waves, which he could hear against the sides of where he was, he was satisfied that he was in a cavern on the shore.

"This is not a house," he said, "we are underground; do you live here?"

"Well, it's all the house I have, when I'm at home, but I'm mostly out."

"And what's your name, and what are you?"

"John Slade, fisherman."

St. Just turned his eyes keenly on him and smiled faintly. "And you do a little foreign trade as well, eh? Brandy, cigars, silks and lace?"

John Slade started and scowled at the injured man, who continued with a laugh, "You needn't be alarmed, my friend, the secret of your retreat is safe with me; I've nothing to do with the coastguard. Besides, as you must have discovered, I am a foreigner, a Frenchman, and I know no one in this country. But I have business in London and must be there as soon as possible. How long have I been here?"

"Since the night afore yesterday. You'll soon be all right now, and I'll see you to the coach for London. I daresay you'll be well enough to start to-morrow. But now, Master, couldn't you take something to eat and drink?"

St. Just thought he could. As a fact, he was feeling very hungry; he had had nothing for two days.

A good night's rest made him another man, and, the next morning, he got into John Slade's boat, and the smuggler rowed him to Brighton. The boat was moored, and his companion went ashore with him and carried his bag to the starting place of the London coach. Then they parted with mutual expressions of goodwill—for St. Just had quite forgiven the mistake that had laid him prostrate—and the young Frenchman was soon rattling along the road to London.

As yet, he had formulated no plan of action; he deferred that, until he should have seen the hosier in the Strand. So he hailed a hackney coach and told the driver to take him to the address Mons. de Talleyrand had given.

Fortunately Mr. Perry was in his shop and, on St. Just's putting the question to him about the bees, he gave the expected answer; then he asked his visitor into his parlor at the back of the shop, and inquired in what way he could serve him.

The latter, having been told that he might speak to the hosier without restraint, at once explained his errand, and asked his hearer the best way to set about it.

Perry was a man of much better social standing and education than the generality of London tradesmen of a hundred years ago. He had not been born in the ranks of shopkeepers, but in his early days had fallen desperately in love with the pretty daughter of the former proprietor of this shop. The girl's virtue being every whit on a level with her beauty, despite his efforts to deprave it, he had been compelled either to marry her, or give up her pursuit; unable to do the latter, he had done the former, and her father dying shortly afterwards, he had found himself in possession of the business, which was too good to be relinquished, the more so that he was without means or occupation.

Chance had thrown him into the way of many of the French émigrés at that time in London. He had traveled in France and could speak the language. There was a good deal of the mole in him, and he was fond of burrowing into secrets. Gradually he had strengthened his relations with these emigrants, so that he had wormed himself into their confidence, and there were few of their plots for the restoration of the French king with which he was unacquainted. Believing in his sympathies, they spoke openly before him and even consulted him about their schemes; almost he had become their trusted agent. And while all this fed his appetite for excitement and his love for plotting, it, at the same time, put money in his pocket, for any services he rendered were well paid for. As a matter of fact, his sympathies were not with the French King's party, for, while filled with horror at the bloodshed of the "Terror," he considered that the French people were quite right in rising against the oppressors—king, nobles and priests—who had ground them down for centuries.

The Revolutionists had their spies in England, and they were not long in discovering Perry's intimacy with the Monarchists. By judicious soundings, they found that he had no real love for these. He could, therefore, knowing so many of their secrets, render them important services. So overtures were made to him, which he accepted, and, at the time of St. Just's visit, he was a recognized agent of the French Republic, while all the time affecting Monarchist proclivities. He was well paid by the Republic, so that now he was receiving money from both sides. But he was careful not to give himself away, keeping the secrets of each party inviolate from the other. Thus he performed with satisfaction to himself the formidable feat of running with the hare and hunting with the hounds.

Such was the man with whom St. Just now found himself in counsel.

It appeared that Perry knew Sir Henry Emerson well; this was doubtless known in Paris and was why St. Just had been instructed to apply to him. Sir Henry had called at the shop only a day or two before and, when ordering certain articles of hosiery, had mentioned casually that he was expecting every day to be ordered to the Continent with dispatches.

Perry told him that Sir Henry was in the habit almost nightly of visiting a certain gambling hell near the Haymarket, at which the hosier had the entrée and occasionally tempted Fortune. He advised that his visitor should accompany him there that night for the double purpose of familiarizing himself with Sir Henry Emerson's appearance and ascertaining, if possible, whether the date of his departure for Holland was yet fixed.

This being settled, Perry took him to a costumier, where he fitted himself with fashionable attire of English cut, he, Perry, supplying him with such hosiery and under-linen as he required. Then, having engaged a room for him at the Golden Cross Hotel, at Charing Cross, he left him, with the promise that he would call for him at a late hour that night, when they would proceed together to the gaming house.

In due course, they made their way thither. At the moment of their arrival at the door, a close carriage, with no armorial bearings on the panels, and drawn by a well-matched pair of horses, pulled up before it. St. Just and his companion drew back to let the occupants precede them.

A well-built man, above the middle height and inclined to stoutness, alighted from the carriage. His features were handsome, but inclined to puffiness. Perry nudged his companion slightly and whispered, "The Prince Regent."

The prince was followed by another man, and the two disappeared within the house, the door having been already opened in answer to the summons of a footman.

Perry waited a few minutes, so as not to follow too closely on the Prince's heels, and then knocked at the same door. It was opened by a man in livery, who greeted Perry respectfully, and then pulled a bell, that tinkled in the distance, and they moved down the passage, at the end of which was a green baize door, that opened noiselessly at their approach, and then closed behind them. They found themselves in a hall that blazed with light. A gorgeously clad, powdered footman stepped forward and relieved them of their roquelaures—they retained their hats—then preceded them up a broad staircase, so softly carpeted that their footfalls could not be heard. At the head of it was another green baize door, before which stood a negro of Herculean proportions, gorgeously arrayed. The footman murmured something and the door swung open.

The scene presented to St. Just's view was as startling as it was novel to him. Proceeding, as he had, direct from the military school to the battle field, he had little personal knowledge of the vices and amusements of Society, and was proportionately astonished. In a large room, furnished luxuriously, and, withal, somewhat meretriciously, the walls lined with long mirrors and pictures suggesting that the persons there delineated were the denizens of countries whose climate was more than temperate—to judge from their costume, or the absence of it; ottomans and lounges, heavily gilt and silk upholstered, dotted about; and the whole brilliantly illuminated by the soft light of innumerable wax candles;—were about sixty persons of both sexes—the men predominating—in evening dress of the very latest fashion, some of the ladies being conspicuous more by the audacity than the elegance of their attire. Some were walking about the room talking and laughing, occasionally pausing at the different tables to watch the progress of the game. But most of them were either seated at the tables, or standing behind the sitters engaged at play. Faro, hazard and other convenient modes for winning and losing money rapidly were going on.

Perry cast his eye carefully round the room, and nodded to several persons whom he knew. "The man we want is not here yet," he whispered to St. Just. "I think we had better join in the play, if we can find a table where it is not too high. For a stranger to come here and refrain from doing so would look singular."

St. Just at once assented, and they strolled about the room in search of a table.

Presently a man called out, "Come and try your luck, Perry; you won't be ruined, we are only small fry here."

"Yes," replied the hosier, "my friend and I will join you;" and he introduced St. Just—as the Comte St. Clair, of course.

They had been seated at the table but a few minutes, when Sir Henry Emerson entered the room, and Perry pointed him out to St. Just, and, during the evening, took an opportunity of introducing them to one another. Sir Henry, who took the so-called Comte St. Clair to be an émigré, and was a strong Royalist, received him in a friendly manner and offered to present him to the Prince at a Levee to be held next day. He added that he would not have another opportunity for some time, for that, at the conclusion of the function, he would have to start for Holland with dispatches.

This was the very information St. Just desired. If the documents were to be in his hands before Sir Henry left England, he had little time to lose. He thanked the speaker for his courtesy, of which he said he would avail himself, and would present himself for the purpose at the house of the King's Messenger at the time appointed. Then, the hour being late, he shook hands with him, and he and Perry took their leave. A modus operandi had to be decided on, and there was little time to do it in.

However, before they turned in for the night, they had evolved a scheme they thought would work, if Fortune should prove kind. There was this about it, that, if that on which they counted for success were absent, they would be no worse off than they were before, and no one would know of their conspiracy. Since Sir Henry Emerson was to set out so soon as the Levee should be over, they hoped to see the coveted dispatch lying in some conspicuous position in his room—if it was not already in his dispatch box—lest, by any chance he should forget it.

And the next day, when St. Just called, according to appointment, clad in a levee uniform procured from a costumier, he found that they had not miscalculated; for there, on a sideboard, in Sir Henry's room—he occupied a suite of chambers in King Street, St. James—lay a packet addressed to "–, His Majesty's Minister Plenipotentiary at The Hague."

Perry had accompanied St. Just, making as his excuse a little present he had brought from his shop for the unsuspecting King's Messenger.

A look of intelligence passed between the two conspirators when they saw the packet on the sideboard, which stood close to the door.

Sir Henry Emerson greeted St. Just courteously and then looked inquiringly at Perry, at the same time saying, "Ah, Perry, my friend, what's brought you? Did you think the Count couldn't be trusted to find his way here alone in a hackney coach?"

"Not that, Sir Henry," replied the hosier, "But the air is sharp in Holland at this time of year, and I have just got in some woolen jackets—quite a new article—to wear under the coat; and I have ventured to ask your acceptance of one; you are one of my oldest customers, and your approval will be of service to me." He held a fiat brown paper parcel in his hand.

"Upon my word, Perry, you're a good fellow," said Sir Henry. "Egad, it was very thoughtful of you and I am much obliged to you. I've no doubt I shall find it very comforting, for, as you say, Holland is deuced cold in January. I am afraid I have scarcely time to try it on just now, for the Count and I must be off to the Levee; but when I come back."

"No need for that, Sir," answered Perry; "it is sure to fit. These things are knitted and, within certain limits, will fit any one. I will leave it on the sideboard." He walked up to it, stood his stick in a corner made by it, and put his parcel on the top of the dispatch for Holland, at the same time dexterously slipping the packet from underneath it and transferring it to his breast pocket, his back being turned to the other two.

This done, he faced about, wished the two gentlemen good day and took his leave.

"It is time for us to be going too, Count," said Sir Henry, so soon as Perry had taken his departure, "and I think our coach is at the door."

St. Just rose with alacrity. He was only too anxious to be gone, before his host should have discovered that the dispatch was missing.

"I am at your service, Sir Henry," he replied.

"Hulloa!" cried Sir Henry on their way out, "Perry has left his stick behind," and he pointed to a walking stick in the angle the wall made with the sideboard. "Well, it will be safe enough here; no doubt he will remember where he left it, when he misses it, and will call for it."

Then they stepped into the coach and were driven to St. James's Palace to pay their respects to "the first gentleman in Europe."

Three hours later they returned, St. Just accompanying the King's Messenger to his chambers. He came in merely to thank him for the attention he had received and to wish him "bon voyage," and was in the act of leaving, when Perry was announced.

"I stupidly forgot my stick, Sir Henry," he began at once, "when I was here three hours ago. Ah, there it is;" espying it in the corner. It was a handsome stick with a heavy embossed gold knob; such a stick as one would not like to lose; so that he might be well excused for calling for it. He walked quickly to it, placing one hand in his breast pocket at the same time. Then, as though a sudden thought had struck him, he said, "Oh, if you have now the time, Sir Henry, you might try on the jacket." At the same time he took up the brown paper parcel from the sideboard and brought it towards Sir Henry. On the spot that it had covered lay the dispatch once more.

"By all means," replied Sir Henry, "if it will not take long; for I am due to leave in half an hour."

Perry quickly undid the parcel, the jacket was brought out, admired, tried on and pronounced an excellent fit, all in the course of a couple of minutes. Then St. Just and Perry took their leave, the latter, this time not forgetting to take his walking stick.

Not a word passed between them on the subject of their visit to Sir Henry Emerson, until they were closeted in Perry's parlor. Then St. Just, who had been itching all the way to learn what Perry had done, burst out, "I suppose you managed to take a copy of the dispatch, since I saw what looked like the original lying on the sideboard, when you took up the parcel."

"I did," was the reply, "but it took me all my time; there was so much of it."

He went to a drawer, unlocked it, took out some papers and handed them to St. Just. "This is the copy."

St. Just's eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

"Bravo, my friend," he said, "you have done well. I don't know what I should have done without you. This is much better than the original, for the English Government will not know what has occurred; whereas, if the original had been missed, it would have aroused suspicion, and a fresh dispatch of different import might have been substituted for it. Is there any chance of their discovering that the envelope has been tampered with? But perhaps you used a fresh one. But how about the Foreign Office seal?"

Perry laughed. "Those are some of my little secrets," he replied; "but it was the same envelope I replaced, and you may rest assured, my friend, that it will not be guessed that it has been tampered with. It was fortunate that everything favored us. I expected much more manoeuvring would have been required to get the packet."

All that remained now, was to remunerate Perry for his services. St. Just gave him notes for five thousand francs, with which the hosier seemed well satisfied.

Later in the evening, they visited several places of amusement, and, the next morning, St. Just took leave of Perry, and started on his return for France. Three days later he presented himself before Mons. de Talleyrand.