Roger took the jewelled watch from his fob and glanced at it. "The time is now ten minutes past seven. I see no reason, if the woman is at home, why this business should take me more than two hours. Should it do so you will know that I am having to wait at her dwelling for her; but at latest I should be back by midnight."
Down in the great entrance hall he presented his order for a squad of men to the Lieutenant on duty, who from the reserve guard furnished him with a Corporal and three guardsmen. A hired coach was called up and they all got into it. then Roger gave the coachman Fouché's address, as he had decided to see him first before making the much longer journey to the other side of the river.
They were hardly out of the Palace courtyard before it became apparent that the Corporal, a middle-aged man with a walrus moustache, who said his name was Peltier, was both garrulous and disgruntled. Now that free speech could again be indulged in without fear of prosecution, everyone aired their criticisms of the Government, but he seemed particularly bitter about the turn things had taken.
He was, he declared, a 'patriot', and had deserved far better of his country than it had done for him. Had he not been one of those who had led the attack on the Bastille on the never-to-be-forgotten 14th of July, and fought with the brutal Swiss Guards in the gardens of the Tuileries on the equally glorious day when the Tyrant and his Austrian Whore had been made prisoners by the People; yet here he was still a Corporal. And the country had gone from bad to worse. He and men like him had shed their blood to rid it of the aristos who for centuries had battened on its life-blood. For a while it had looked as if true liberty had dawned at last; but the Revolution was being betrayed by self-seekers and speculators. They were letting the aristos come back, and worse, imitating them. What was needed was another Marat to rouse the People to their danger, and another Santerre to lead the men of the Faubourgs against the reactionaries.
Far from being impressed, Roger listened to this tirade with some impatience. He thought it unlikely that the man had been at the taking of the Bastille, and doubted if he had ever shot at anyone capable of returning his fire. He was a typical ex-sans-culotte, for whom 'liberty' meant the right to rob, rape and murder his betters without fear of reprisal and who had almost certainly got himself into the Convention Guard in order to escape being called up and sent on active service.
As they had not far to go the drive was soon over. Pulling up the coach at the entrance to the cul-de-sac in which Fouché lived, Roger got out, walked along to his house and knocked on the door. It was opened by Fouché himself. With a word of greeting Roger handed him the missive from Barras, and said:
"I bring this with Barras's compliments. He agreed that you merit attention and should be given a new field, even if a small one, for your talents. Twill at least enable you to say good-bye to your pigs." Then, having no love for Fouché, he bid him an abrupt good night, turned on his heel and walked back towards the coach.
He was only half-way to it when he heard a shout. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that Fouché was running after him, so he halted and called out:
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"The matter!" screamed Fouché" waving the document that Barras had sent him. "Why this? This infernal order! How dare you trick me in this fashion."
. "I've played no trick upon you," Roger exclaimed in surprise. .
Stamping with rage Fouché shook the offending document in his face. "You must have known what was in this! You must have! Your own words as you gave it me condemn you. 'Twill enable you to say good-bye to your pigs.' That is what you said. And that Barras 'agreed that I should be given a new field'. A new field indeed! Oh, Mort Dieu, Mort Dieu! May you both be damned for ever!"
Roger stared at him uncomprehendingly, and muttered: "I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about."
"My poor wife! My little daughter!" Fouché exclaimed with a sob. "As though things were not bad enough with us already. And now this!" Suddenly he burst into tears.
It was at that moment that a footfall behind Roger caused him to turn. To his annoyance he saw that Corporal Peltier had left the coach and was lumbering towards them.
"Get back to the coach," he said sharply. "This is no business of yours." But the garrulous Corporal came to a halt, stood his ground, and declared truculently:
"Oh yes it is! That's Citizen Fouché standin' there. I thought I recognized 'is voice when I 'eard 'im 'olla. 'E's one o' the best, an' an ole frien' o' mine. What's goin' on 'ere? What 'ave yer done to 'im?"
"I had to bring him some bad news," snapped Roger. "Now, begone with you."
Fouché had meanwhile regained control of himself, and as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, the Corporal, ignoring Roger's order, addressed him.
"Remember me, Citizen Fouche7? Name of Jacques Peltier. I were in Lyons with yer. What times we 'ad there, eh? Remember 'ow we tied the Bible ter the donkey's tail an' fed 'im on 'oly wafers; then made them nuns dance the Carmagnol? What a night we 'ad of it too wi' some o' them novices. Those were the days. No one couldn't push a patriot arahnd then. You must remember me, Jacques Peltier."
"Yes," snuffled Fouché "Yes, Citizen Peltier, I remember you. But we are discussing a private matter; so be pleased to leave us."
"Oh, orlright then," the Corporal shrugged. "Only I don't like ter see an ole frien' pushed arahnd; an’ there's a limit ter wot we should stand from these dandified new bosses they give us."
The last remark was clearly directed at Roger, who swung round on him and said in the icy tone that he knew so well how to use on occasions: "Do you not keep a civil tongue in your head, I'll report you to Citizen Director Barras and have your uniform stripped from your back. Now; leave us this instant!"
Cowed by the voice of authority, the man shuffled off, still muttering to himself. Turning back to Fouché, Roger said: "I have little time to waste, but if you have any complaint to make we had better go inside. I've no mind to stand here wrangling within earshot of that big oaf and the other men."
Without a word Fouché stalked back to the house and through into its living-room. Roger followed and, as they came to a halt on the other side of the table, asked:
"Now! What is it you are making such a fuss about?"
"How can you have the face to ask, when you must know," Fouché retorted angrily.
"I tell you I do not!"
"Then read that!" As Fouché spoke he flung the document down on the table.
Picking it up, Roger scanned it quickly. It was on official paper and read:
ORDER OF BANISHMENT
To the Citizen Joseph Fouché.
On receipt of this the citizen above named will leave Paris within twelve hours. He is forthwith forbidden to take up his residence at any place within twenty leagues of the Capital, or to return to it on any pretext without a permission endorsed by the undersigned.
He is also forbidden for reasons of State to communicate in any way with the Citoyenne Josephine de Beauharnais, the Citizen General Buonaparte, or the Citoyenne Remy.
Should he disobey either of the above injunctions he will make himself liable to transportation for life.
Paul Barras,
For the Directory.
Suddenly Roger burst out laughing. It struck him as incredibly funny that Fouché, the ace of tricksters, should have been tricked himself. Even if he had thought of spiking Fouché's guns in this way he could not decently have done so; but Barras, being committed by no promise, had awarded the rogue his just deserts.