our past. Chauvelin, in that same second, while his own eyes were
closed and Robespierre's fixed upon him, also saw the lonely cliffs of
Calais, heard the same voice singing: "God save the King!" the volley
of musketry, the despairing cries of Marguerite Blakeney; and once
again he felt the keen and bitter pang of complete humiliation and
defeat.






Chapter III : Ex-Ambassador Chauvelin



Robespierre had quietly waited the while. He was in no hurry: being a
night-bird of very pronounced tastes, he was quite ready to sit here
until the small hours of the morning watching Citizen Chauvelin
mentally writhing in the throes of recollections of the past few
months.

There was nothing that delighted the sea-green Incorruptible quite so
much as the aspect of a man struggling with a hopeless situation and
feeling a net of intrigue drawing gradually tighter and tighter around
him.

Even now, when he saw Chauvelin's smooth forehead wrinkled into
an anxious frown, and his thin hand nervously clutched upon the
table, Robespierre heaved a pleasurable sigh, leaned back in his chair,