"Is it then that you wish me to go to England?" St. Just nodded. "But," she continued, in the same indeterminate manner, "meseems that you talk very glibly of my--what shall I say?--my proposed dalliance with the mysterious Englishman. Suppose he--he does not respond?" "Impossible!" Couthon broke in quickly. "Oh!" she protested. "Impossible? Englishmen are known to be prudish--moral--what? And if the man is married--what then?" "The citoyenne Cabarrus underrates her powers," St. Just riposted glibly. "Theresia, I entreat!" Tallien put in dolefully. He felt that the interview, from which he had hoped so much, was proving a failure--nay, worse! For he realised that Robespierre, thwarted in this desire, would bitterly resent Theresia's positive refusal to help him. "Eh, what?" she riposted lightly. "And is it you, citizen Tallien, who would push me into this erotic adventure? I' faith, your trust in me is highly flattering! Have you not thought that in the process I might fall in love with the Scarlet Pimpernel myself? He is young, they say; handsome, adventurous; and I am to try and capture his fancy . . . the butterfly is to dance around the flame . . . . No, no! I am too much afraid that I may singe my wings!" "Does that mean," Robespierre put in coldly, "that you refuse us your help, citoyenne Cabarrus. "Yes--I refuse," she replied calmly. "The project does not please me, I confess----" "Not even if we guaranteed immunity to your lover, Bertrand Moncrif?" She gave a slight shudder. Her lips felt dry, and she passed her tongue rapidly over them. "I have no lover, except citizen Tallien," she said steadily, and placed her fingers, which had suddenly become ice-cold, upon the clasped hands of her future lord. Then she rose, thereby giving the signal for the breaking-up of the little party. In truth, she knew as well as did Tallien that the meeting had been a failure. Tallien was looking sallow and terribly worried. Robespierre, taciturn and sullen, gave her one threatening glance before he took his leave. "You know, citoyenne," he said coldly, "that the nation has means at its disposal for compelling its citizens to do their duty." "Ah, bah!" retorted the fair Spaniard, shrugging her shoulders. "I am not a citizen of France. And even your unerring Public Prosecutor would find it difficult to frame an accusation against me." Again she laughed, determined to appear gay and inconsequent through it all. "Think how the accusation would sound, citizen Robespierre!" she went on mockingly. "'The citoyenne Cabarrus, for refusing to make amorous overtures to the mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, and for refusing to administer a love-philtre to him as prepared by Mother Théot at the bidding of citizen Robespierre!' Confess! Confess!" she added, and her rippling laugh had a genuine note of merriment in it at last, "that we none of us would survive such ridicule!"