as easy in his
mind about that. In another twenty-four hours he would hold the man
completely in his power who had so boldly outwitted him last year;
to-night he would sleep in peace: an entire city was guarding the
precious hostage.

"We'll go to bed now, Citizen," he said to Collot, who, tired and sulky,
was moodily fingering the papers on the table. The scraping sound which
he made thereby grated on Chauvelin's overstrung nerves. He wanted to
be alone, and the sleepy brute's presence here jarred on his own solemn
mood.

To his satisfaction, Collot grunted a surly assent. Very leisurely he
rose from his chair, stretched out his loose limbs, shook himself like
a shaggy cur, and without uttering another word he gave his colleague a
curt nod, and slowly lounged out of the room.

Chapter XXV: The Unexpected

Chauvelin heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction when Collot d'Herbois
finally left him to himself. He listened for awhile until the heavy
footsteps died away in the distance, then leaning back in his chair, he
gave himself over to the delights of the present situation.

Marguerite in his power. Sir Percy Blakeney compelled to treat for her
rescue if he did not wish to see her die a miserable death.

"Aye! my elusive hero," he muttered to himself, "methinks that we shall
be able to cry quits at last."

Outside everything had become still. Even the wind in the trees out
there on the ramparts had ceased their melancholy moaning. The man was
alone with his thoughts. He felt secure and at peace, sure of victory,
content to await the events of the next twenty-four hours. The other
side of the door the guard which he had picked out from amongst the more
feeble and ill-fed garrison of the little city for attendance on his own
person were ranged ready to respond to his call.

"Dishonour and ridicule! Derision and scorn!" he murmured, gloating
over the very sound of these words, which expressed all that he hoped to
accomplish, "utter abjections, then perhaps a suicide's grave..."

He loved the silence around him, for he could murmur these words and
hear them echoing against the bare stone walls like the whisperings of
all the spirits of hate which were waiting to lend him their aid.

How long he had remained thus absorbed in his meditations, he could not
afterwards have said; a minute or two perhaps at most, whilst he leaned
back in his chair with eyes closed, savouring the sweets of his own
thoughts, when su