My courier should deliver you this letter as you are on the Point of reentering France, on your return from the mission which you have discharged with so much glory to yourself and credit to me who recommended you for the task. I make you my compliments on the tact and adroitness you have employed to bring this stubborn Dumouriez into some semblance of sympathy with the Convention. And now, my friend, I have another task for you, which you can discharge on your homeward journey. You will make a slight detour, passing into Artois and riding to the Chateau d'Ombreval, which is situated some four miles south of Arras. Here I wish you not only to Possess yourself of the person of the ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval, bringing him to Paris as your Prisoner, but further, to make a very searching investigation of that aristocrat's papers, securing any documents that you may consider of a nature treasonable to the French Republic, One and Indivisible. The letter ended with the usual greetings and Robespierre's signature. La Boulaye swore softly to himself as he folded the epistle. “It seems,” he muttered to Charlot, “that I am to turn catch-poll in the service of the Republic.” “To a true servant of the Nation,” put in the courier, who had overheard him, “all tasks that may tend to the advancement of the Republic should be eagerly undertaken. Diable! Have not I ridden in the rain these six hours past?” La Boulaye paid no heed to him; he was too inured to this sort of insolence since the new rule had levelled all men. But Charlot turned slowly to regard the fellow. He was a tall man of rather slender stature, but indifferently dressed in garments that were splashed from head to foot with mud, and from which a steam was beginning to rise as he stood now with his back to the fire. Charlot eyed him so narrowly that the fellow shifted his position and dropped his glance in some discomfort. His speech, though rough of purport, had not been ungentle of delivery. But his face was dirty--the sure sign of an ardent patriot--his hair hung untidy about his face, and he wore that latest abomination of the ultra-revolutionist, a dense black beard and moustache. “My friend,” said Charlot, “although we are ready to acknowledge you our equal, we should like you to understand that we do not take lessons in duty even from our equals. Bear you that in mind if you seek to have a peaceful time while you are here, for it so happens that I am quartered at this inn, and have a more important way with me than this good-natured Deputy here.” The fellow darted Charlot a malevolent glance. “You talk of equality and you outrage equality in a breath,” he growled. “I half suspect you of being a turncoat aristocrat.” And he spat ostentatiously on the ground.