bbler and of the herd of hyenas on the watch for
his attenuated little corpse, eh?"

"I did not say that," retorted St. Just sullenly.

"No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my over-loyal young
friend. Could I, or any one else, doubt for a moment that sooner or
later your romantic hero would turn his attention to the most pathetic
sight in the whole of Europe--the child-martyr in the Temple prison?
The wonder were to me if the Scarlet Pimpernel ignored our little King
altogether for the sake of his subjects. No, no; do not think for a
moment that you have betrayed your friend's secret to me. When I met you
so luckily today I guessed at once that you were here under the banner
of the enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went a
step further in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now in
the hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple prison."

"If that is so, you must not only rejoice but should be able to help."

"And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the other
in the future," said de Batz placidly. "I happen to be a Frenchman, you
see."

"What has that to do with such a question?"

"Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman too,
do not look through my spectacles. Louis XVII is King of France, my good
St. Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to us Frenchmen, and to
no one else."

"That is sheer madness, man," retorted Armand. "Would you have the child
perish for the sake of your own selfish ideas?"

"You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a measure
selfish. What does the rest of the world care if we are a republic or a
monarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work for ourselves and to
please ourselves, and I for one will not brook foreign interference."

"Yet you work with foreign money!"

"That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get it where
I can; but I can arrange for the escape of Louis XVII is King of France,
my good St. Just; he must of France should belong the honour and glory
of having saved our King."

For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; he was
gazing wide-eyed, almost appalled at this impudent display of well-nigh
ferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling and complacent, was
leaning back in his chair, looking at his young friend with perfect
contentment expressed in every line of his pock-marked face and in the
very at