Rateau nodded. "What is it?" Chauvelin reiterated harshly. "She is playing you false, citizen," Rateau murmured in a hoarse breath, and crawled like a long, bulky worm a little closer to the Terrorist. "How?" "She is in league with the Englishman." "How do you know? "I saw her here . . . two days ago. . . . You remember, citizen . . . after you . . ." "Yes, yes!" Chauvelin cried impatiently. "Sergeant Chazot took me to the cavalry barracks. . . . They gave me to drink . . . and I don't remember much what happened. But when I was myself again, I know that my arm was very sore, and when I looked down I saw this awful mark on it. . . . I was just outside the Arsenal then. . . . How I got there I don't know. . . . I suppose Sergeant Chazot brought me back. . . . He says I was howling for Mother Théot. . . . She has marvellous salves, you know, citizen." "Yes, yes!" "I came in here. . . . My head still felt very strange . . . and my arm felt like living fire. Then I heard voices . . . they came from the stairs. . . . I looked about me, and saw them standing there. . . ." Rateau, leaning upon one arm, stretched out the other and pointed to the stairs. Chauvelin, with a violent gesture, seized him by the wrist. "Who?" he queried harshly. "Who was standing there?" His glance followed the direction in which the coalheaver was pointing, then instinctively wandered back and fastened on that fiery letter "M" which had been seared into the vagabond's flesh. "The Englishman and citoyenne Cabarrus," Rateau replied feebly, for he had winced with pain under the excited grip of the Terrorist. "You are certain?" "I heard them talking----" "What did they say?" "I do not know. . . . But I saw the Englishman kiss the citoyenne's hand before they parted." "And what happened after that?" "The citoyenne went to Mother Théot's apartment and the Englishman came down the stairs. I had just time to hide behind that pile of rubbish. He did not see me." Chauvelin uttered a savage curse of disappointment. "Is that all?" he exclaimed. "The State will pay me?" Rateau murmured vaguely. "Not a sou!" Chauvelin retorted roughly. "And if citizen Tallien hears this pretty tale . . ." "I can swear to it!" "Bah! Citoyenne Cabarrus will swear that you lied. 'Twill be her word against that of a mudlark!" "Nay!" Rateau retorted. "'Twill be more than that." "What then?" "Will you swear to protect me, citizen, if citizen Tallien--" "Yes, yes! I'll protect you. . . . And the guillotine has no time to trouble about such muck-worms as you!" "Well, then, citizen," Rateau went on in a hoarse murmur, "if you will go to the citoyenne's lodgings in the Rue Villedot, I can show you where the Englishman hides the clothes wherewith he disguises himself . . . and the letters which he writes to the citoyenne when . . ."