a
letter might have compromised the two friends. Malin, who hoped to be
appointed senator, was afraid to offer his explanations in Paris. He
came to Gondreville, giving the First Consul only one of the reasons
that made him wish to be there; that reason gave him an appearance of
zeal in the eyes of Bonaparte; whereas his journey, far from concerning
the interests of the State, related to his own interests only. On this
particular day, as Michu was watching the park and expecting, after
the manner of a red Indian, a propitious moment for his vengeance,
the astute Malin, accustomed to turn all events to his own profit, was
leading his friend Grevin to a little field in the English garden,
a lonely spot in the park, favorable for a secret conference. There,
standing in the centre of the grass plot and speaking low, the friends
were at too great a distance to be overheard if any one were lurking
near enough to listen to them; they were also sure of time to change the
conversation if others unwarily approached.

"Why couldn't we have stayed in a room in the chateau?" asked Grevin.

"Didn't you take notice of those two men whom the prefect of police has
sent here to me?"

Though Fouche made himself in the matter of the Pichegru, Georges,
Moreau, and Polignac conspiracy the soul of the Consular cabinet, he
did not at this time control the ministry of police, but was merely a
councillor of State like Malin.

"Those men," continued Malin, "are Fouche's two arms. One, that dandy
Corentin, whose face is like a glass of lemonade, vinegar on his lips
and verjuice in his eyes, put an end to the insurrection at the West
in the year VII. in less than fifteen days. The other is a disciple of
Lenoir; he is the only one who preserves the great traditions of the
police. I had asked for an agent of no great account, backed by some
official personage, and they send me those past-masters of the business!
Ah, Grevin, Fouche wants to pry into my game. That's why I left those
fellows dining at the chateau; they may look into everything for all I
care; they won't find Louis XVIII. nor any sign of him."

"But see here, my dear fellow, what game are you playing?" cried Grevin.

"Ha, my friend, a double game is a dangerous one, but this, taking
Fouche into account, is a triple one. He may have nosed the fact that I
am in the secrets of the house of Bourbon."

"You?"

"I," replied Malin.

"Have you forgotten Favras?"

The words made an i