"Imbécile!" she screamed. "I? Do you hate him? Well, think how I must love him when he too goes after this girl—goes to her from me, from swearing I am his goddess, his inspiration? Ah!"—she caught at her throat,—"but at least I can give you his head. The fool—the fool to betray a woman who holds his life in her hands! Here is what the imbecile wrote me only a week ago. Read, and say if it ’s not enough to give him to the embraces of the Guillotine?" The paper she thrust at Hébert came from her bosom, and when he had read it his dull eyes glittered. "’The King’s death a crime—perhaps time not ripe for a Republic.’ Thérèse, you ’re worth your weight in gold. I don’t think Edmond Cléry will write you any more love-letters." Thérèse drew gloomily away. "And the girl?" she asked, with a shiver. "That, my dear, was to depend on what you could find out about her," Hébert reminded her. His own fury had subsided, and he threw himself into a chair. Thérèse made an abrupt movement. "There is nothing more to find out. I have it all." "You ’ve been long enough getting it," said Hébert, sitting up. "Well, I have it now, and I told you all along that Rosalie was more obstinate than a mule. She has been in one of her silent moods; she would go to all the executions, and then, instead of being a pleasant companion, there she would sit quite mum, or muttering to herself. Yesterday, however, she seemed excited. There was a large batch told off, three women amongst them, and one of them shrieked when Sanson took her kerchief off. That seemed to wake Rosalie up. She got quite red, and began to talk as if she had a fever." "It is one you have caught from her, then," said Hébert impatiently. "The news, my girl, the news! What do I care for your cousin and her tantrums?" Thérèse looked dangerous. "Am I your cat’s-paw, Hébert?" she said. "Pah! do your own dirty work—you ’ll get no more from me." Hébert cursed his impatience—fool that he was not to remember Thérèse’s temper! He forced an ugly smile. "Oh, well, as you please," he said. "Let the girl go. There are other fish in the sea. Best let Cléry go too, and then they can make a match of it, unless she should prefer Dangeau." His intent eyes saw the girl’s face change at that. "A thousand devils!" she burst out. "Why do you plague me, Hébert? Be civil and play fair, and you ’ll get what you want." "Come, come, Thérèse," he said soothingly. "We both want the same thing—to teach a stuck-up baggage of an aristocrat a lesson. Let’s be friends again, and give me the news. Is it any good?" "Good enough," said Thérèse, with a sulky look,—"good enough to take her out of my way, if I say the word. Why, she ’s a cousin of the ci-devant Montargis, who got so prettily served on the third of September." "What?" exclaimed Hébert.