"Mother Théot allows me to sleep here," Rateau went on mildly. "I have had no work for two days . . . not since . . ." And he looked down ruefully upon his arm. "People think I am an escaped felon," he explained with snivelling timidity. "And as I have always lived just from hand to mouth . . ." He paused, and cast an obsequious glance on the Terrorist, who retorted dryly: "Better men than you, my friend, live from hand to mouth these days. Poverty," he continued with grim sarcasm, "exalts a man in this glorious revolution of ours. 'Tis riches that shame him." Rateau's branded arm went up to his lanky hair and he scratched his head dubiously. "Aye," he nodded, obviously uncomprehending, "perhaps! But I'd like to taste some of that shame!" Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel. The thunder sounded a little more distant and the rain less violent for the moment, and he strode toward the door. "The children run after me now," Rateau continued dolefully. "In my quartier, the concierge turned me out of my lodging. They keep asking me what I have done to be branded like a convict." Chauvelin laughed. "Tell them you've been punished for serving the English spy," he said. "The Englishman paid me well, and I am very poor," Rateau retorted meekly. "I could serve the State now . . . if it would pay me well." "Indeed? How?" "By telling you something, citizen, which you would like to know." "What is it?" At once the instinct of the informer, of the sleuthhound, was on the _qui vive._ The coalheaver's words, the expression of cunning on his ugly face, the cringing obsequiousness of his attitude, all suggested the spirit of intrigue, of underhand dealing, of lies and denunciations, which were as the breath of life to this master-spy. He retraced his steps, came and sat upon a pile of rubbish beside the barrel, and when Rateau, terrified apparently at what he had said, made a motion as if to slink away, Chauvelin called him back peremptorily. "What is it, citizen Rateau," he said curtly, "that you could tell me, and that I would like to know?" Rateau was cowering in the darkness, trying to efface his huge bulk and to smother his rasping cough. "You have said too much already," Chauvelin went on harshly, "to hold your tongue. And you have nothing to fear . . . everything to gain. What is it?" For a moment Rateau leaned forward, struck the ground with his fist. "Am I to be paid this time?" he asked. "If you speak the truth--yes." "How much?" "That depends on what you tell me. And now, if you hold your tongue, I shall call to the citizen Captain upstairs and send you to jail." The coalheaver appeared to crouch yet further into himself. He looked like a huge, shapeless mass in the gloom. His huge yellow teeth could be heard chattering. "Citizen Tallien will send me to the guillotine," he murmured. "What has citizen Tallien to do with it?" "He pays great attention to the citoyenne Cabarrus." "And it is about her?"