ower--but the other?"

"The other?" retorted de Batz lightly. "Heron? Let me tell you, my
friend, that even the might and lust of that damned Public Prosecutor
pale before the power of Heron!"

"But how? I do not understand."

"Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though no
doubt the main plot of our hideous tragedy has reached your ken, you
have no cognisance of the actors who play the principal parts on this
arena flooded with blood and carpeted with hate. They come and go, these
actors, my good St. Just--they come and go. Marat is already the man
of yesterday, Robespierre is the man of to-morrow. To-day we still have
Danton and Foucquier-Tinville; we still have Pere Duchesne, and your
own good cousin Antoine St. Just, but Heron and his like are with us
always."

"Spies, of course?"

"Spies," assented the other. "And what spies! Were you present at the
sitting of the Assembly to-day?"

"I was. I heard the new decree which already has passed into law. Ah! I
tell you, friend, that we do not let the grass grow under our feet these
days. Robespierre wakes up one morning with a whim; by the afternoon
that whim has become law, passed by a servile body of men too terrified
to run counter to his will, fearful lest they be accused of moderation
or of humanity--the greatest crimes that can be committed nowadays."

"But Danton?"

"Ah! Danton? He would wish to stem the tide that his own passions
have let loose; to muzzle the raging beasts whose fangs he himself has
sharpened. I told you that Danton is still the man of to-day; to-morrow
he will be accused of moderation. Danton and moderation!--ye gods!
Eh? Danton, who thought the guillotine too slow in its work, and armed
thirty soldiers with swords, so that thirty heads might fall at one
and the same time. Danton, friend, will perish to-morrow accused of
treachery against the Revolution, of moderation towards her enemies;
and curs like Heron will feast on the blood of lions like Danton and his
crowd."

He paused a moment, for he dared not raise his voice, and his whispers
were being drowned by the noise in the auditorium. The curtain, timed
to be raised at eight o'clock, was still down, though it was close on
half-past, and the public was growing impatient. There was loud stamping
of feet, and a few shrill whistles of disapproval proceeded from the
gallery.

"If Heron gets impatient," said de Batz lightly, when the noise had
momentarily subsided,