He paused for a while, his hand still resting on Chauvelin's shoulder,
his pale green eyes holding those of the other man as if in a trance.
But Chauvelin neither stirred nor spoke. His triumph left him quite
calm; his fertile brain was already busy with his plans. There was no
room for fear in his heart, and it was without the slightest tremor that
he waited for the conclusion of Robespierre's oration.

"Perhaps, Citizen Chauvelin," said the latter at last, "you have already
guessed what there is left for me to say. But lest there should remain
in your mind one faint glimmer of doubt or of hope, let me tell you
this. The Revolutionary Government gives you this chance of
redeeming your failure, but this one only; if you fail again, your
outraged country will know neither pardon nor mercy. Whether you
return to France or remain in England, whether you travel North,
South, East or West, cross the Oceans, or traverse the Alps, the hand
of an avenging People will be upon you. Your second failure will be
punished by death, wherever you may be, either by the guillotine, if
you are in France, or if you seek refuge elsewhere, then by the hand
of an assassin.

"Look to it, "Citizen Chauvelin! for there will be no escape this time,
not even if the mightiest tyrant on earth tried to protect you, not even
if you succeeded in building up an empire and placing yourself upon a
throne."

His thin, strident voice echoed weirdly in the small, close boudoir.
Chauvelin made no reply. There was nothing that he could say. All
that Robespierre had put so emphatically before him, he had fully
realised, even whilst he was forming his most daring plans.