“It is regrettable,” returned Robespierre, “that you should have pledged your word in the matter. You will confess, Caron, that it was a little precipitate. Enfin,” he ended, crumpling the document he had signed and tossing it under the table, “you must extricate yourself as best you can. I am sorry, but I cannot give him to you.” Caron's face was very white and his hands were clenched convulsively. It is questionable whether in that moment he had not flung himself upon the Incorruptible, and enforced that which hitherto he had only besought, but that in that instant the girl stepped into the room. “And is it really you, Caron?” came the melodious voice of Cecile. La Boulaye started round to confront her, and stifled a curse at the untimely interruption which Robespierre was blessing as most timely. “It is--it is, Citoyenne,” he answered shortly, to add more shortly still: “I am here on business with the Citizen, your uncle.” But before the girl could so much as appreciate the rebuke he levelled at her intrusion, her uncle had come to the rescue. “The business, however, is at an end. Take charge of this good Caron, Cecile, whilst I make ready for my journey.” Thus, sore at heart, and chagrined beyond words, La Boulaye was forced to realise his defeat, and to leave the presence of the Incorruptible. But with Cecile he went no farther than the landing. “If you will excuse me, Citoyenne,” he said abstractedly, “I will take my leave of you.” “But I shall not excuse you, Caron,” she said, refusing to see his abstraction. “You will stay to dinner--” “I am sorry beyond measure, but--” “You shall stay,” she interrupted. “Come, Caron. It is months since you were with us. We will make a little fete in honour of your yesterday's triumph,” she promised him, sidling up to him with a bewitching glance of blue eyes, and the most distracting toss of golden curls upon an ivory neck. But to such seductions Caron proved as impervious as might a man of stone. He excused himself with cold politeness. The Nation's business was awaiting him; he might not stay. “The Nation's business may await you a little longer,” she declared, taking hold of his arm with both hands, and had she left it at that it is possible that she had won her way with him. But most indiscreetly she added: “Come, Caron, you shall tell me who was your yesterday's visitor. Do you know that the sight of her made me jealous? Was it not foolish in me?” And now, from cold politeness, La Boulaye passed to hot impoliteness. Roughly he shook her detaining hands from him, and with hardly so much as a word of farewell, he passed down the stairs, leaving her white with passion at the slight he had thereby put upon her. The beauty seemed to pass out of her face much as the meekness was wont to pass out of her uncle's when he was roused. Her blue eyes grew steely and cruel as she looked after him.