The turbulent little incident was closed. Theresia had her way, and poor, harassed Tallien succeeded in shutting away in the innermost recesses of his heart the pangs of jealousy which still tortured him. His goddess now was all smiles, and the subtle flattery implied by her preference for him above his many rivals warmed his atrophied heart and soothed his boundless vanity. We must accept the verdict of history that Theresia Cabarrus never loved Tallien. The truth appears to be that what love she was capable of had undoubtedly been given to Bertrand Moncrif, whom she would not entirely dismiss from his allegiance, even though she had at last been driven into promising marriage to the powerful Terrorist. It is doubtful if, despite that half-hearted and wholly selfish love for the young royalist, she had ever intended that he should be more to her than a slavish worshipper, a friend on whom she could count for perpetual adoration or mere sentimental dalliance; but a husband--never! Certain it is that even Tallien, influential as he was, was only a pis-aller. The lovely Spaniard, we make no doubt, would have preferred Robespierre as a future husband, or, failing him, Louis-Antoine St. Just. But the latter was deeply enamoured of another woman; and Robespierre was too cautious, too ambitious, to allow himself to be enmeshed. So she fell back on Tallien. §3 "Give me my orders for to-night," the lovely woman had said to her future lord. And he--a bundle of vanity and egoism--was flattered and soothed by this submission, though he knew in his heart of hearts that it was only pretence. "You will help me, Theresia?" he pleaded. She nodded, and asked coldly: "How?" "You know that Robespierre suspects me," he went on, and instinctively, at the mere breathing of that awe-inspiring name, his voice sank to a murmur. "Ever since I came back from Bordeaux." "I know. Your leniency there is attributed to me." "It was your influence, Theresia----" he began. "That turned you," she broke in coldly, "from a bloodstained beast into a right-minded justiciary. Do you regret it?" "No, no!" he protested; "since it gained me your love." "Could I love a beast of prey?" she retorted. "But if you do not regret, you are certainly afraid." "Robespierre never forgives," he rejoined vaguely. "And he had sent me to Bordeaux to punish, not to pardon." "Then you _are_ afraid!" she insisted. "Has anything happened?" "No; only his usual hints--his vague threats. You know them." She nodded. "The same," he went on sombrely, "that he used ere he struck Danton." "Danton was hot-headed. He was too proud to appeal to the populace who idolised him." "And I have no popularity to which I can appeal. If Robespierre strikes at me in the Convention, I am doomed----" "Unless you strike first." "I have no following. We none of us have. Robespierre sways the Convention with one word."