"You mean," she broke in more vehemently, "that you are all cringing cowards--the abject slaves of one man. Two hundred of you are longing for this era of bloodshed to cease; two hundred would stay the pitiless work of the guillotine--and not one is plucky enough to cry, 'Halt! It is enough!'" "The first man who cries 'Halt!' is called a traitor," Tallien retorted gloomily. "And the guillotine will not rest until Robespierre himself has said, 'It is enough!'" "He alone knows what he wants. He alone fears no one," she exclaimed, almost involuntarily giving grudging admiration where in truth she felt naught but loathing. "I would not fear either, Theresia," he protested, and there was a note of tender reproach in his voice, "if it were not for you." "I know that, mon ami," she rejoined with an impatient little sigh. "Well, what do you want me to do?" He leaned forward in his chair, closer to her, and did not mark--poor fool!--that, as he drew near, she recoiled ever so slightly from him. "There are two things," he said insinuatingly, "which you could do, Theresia, either of which would place Robespierre under such lasting obligation to you that he would admit us into the inner circle of his friends, trust us and confide in us as he does in St. Just or Couthon." "Trust you, you mean. He never would trust a woman." "It means the same thing--security for us both." "Well?" she rejoined. "What are these two things?" He paused a moment, appeared to hesitate; then said resolutely: "Firstly, there is Bertrand Moncrif . . . and his Fatalists----" Her face hardened. She shook her head. "I warned Robespierre about to-night," she said. "I knew that a lot of young fools meant to cause a fracas in the Rue St. Honoré. But the whole thing has been a failure, and Robespierre has no use for failures." "It need not be a failure--even yet." "What do you mean?" "Robespierre will be here directly," he urged, in a whisper rendered hoarse with excitement "Bertrand Moncrif is here---- Why not deliver the young traitor, and earn Robespierre's gratitude?" "Oh!" she broke in indignant protest. Then, as she caught the look of jealous anger which at her obvious agitation suddenly flared up in his narrow eyes again, she went on with a careless shrug of her statuesque shoulders: "Bertrand is not here, as I told you, my friend. So these means of serving your cause are out of my reach." "Theresia," he urged, "by deceiving me----" "By tantalizing me," she broke in harshly, "you do yourself no good. Let us understand one another, my friend," she went on more gently. "You wish me to serve you by serving the dictator of France. And I tell you you'll not gain your ends by taunting me." "Theresia, we must make friends with Robespierre! He has the power; he rules over France. Whilst I----"