So Chauvelin listens unmoved to Barras' passionate tirades, and when the latter, puzzled at his colleague's indifference, reiterates frowning: "I must have all the troops I can get. You have some capable soldiers at your command always, citizen Chauvelin. Where are they now?" Chauvelin retorts drily: "At work. On business at least as important as taking sides in a quarrel between Robespierre and Tallien." "Pardi! . . ." Barras protests hotly. But Chauvelin pays no further attention to him. A neighbouring church clock has just struck six. Within the hour his arch-enemy will be in his hands! Never for a moment does he doubt that the bold adventurer will come to the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette. Even hating the Englishman as he does, he knows that the latter would not endanger his wife's safety by securing his own. So Chauvelin turns on his heel, leaving Barras to fume and to threaten. At the angle of the Porte St. Antoine, he stumbles against and nearly knocks over a man who sits on the ground, with his back to the wall, munching a straw, his knees drawn up to his nose, a crimson cap pulled over his eyes, and his two long arms encircling his shins. Chauvelin swore impatiently. His nerves were on the rack, and he was in no pleasant mood. The man, taken unawares, had uttered an oath, which died away in a racking fit of coughing. Chauvelin looked down, and saw the one long arm branded with the letter "M," the flesh still swollen and purple with the fire of the searing iron. "Rateau!" he ejaculated roughly. "What are you doing here?" Meek and servile, Rateau struggled with some difficulty to his feet. "I have finished my work at Mother Théot's, citizen," he said humbly. "I was resting." Chauvelin kicked at him with the toe of his boot. "Then go and rest elsewhere," he muttered. "The gates of the city are not refuges for vagabonds." After which act of unnecessary brutality, his temper momentarily soothed, he turned on his heel and walked rapidly through the gate. Barras had stood by during this brief interlude, vaguely interested in the little scene. But now, when the coalheaver lurched past him, one of his aides-de-camp remarked audibly: "An unpleasant customer, citizen Chauvelin! Eh, friend?" "I believe you!" Rateau replied readily enough. Then, with the mulish persistence of a gaby who is smarting under a wrong, he thrust out his branded arm, right under citizen Barras' nose. "See what he has done to me!" Barras frowned. "A convict, what? Then, how is it you are at large?" "I am not a convict," Rateau protested with sullen emphasis. "I am an innocent man, and a free citizen of the Republic. But I got in citizen Chauvelin's way, what? He is always full of schemes----"