"Did he indeed! Well, that has saved us one worry. Although he could have caused us no great trouble after the death of the other boy enabled us to proclaim him officially dead. But why did you not then return?"
Now well launched on the story he had prepared, Roger replied promptly. "I stowed away in a smugglers' yawl, but had the misfortune to be caught Since my name is known in England as a so-called terrorist, and I could give no proper account of myself, judging that I would receive better treatment as a soldier than as a civilian, I gave a false name and said that I was an escaped prisoner-of-war; so they sent me to a prison on the Isle of Wight Three times I attempted to escape, and each time failed. But last summer I saw a chance to get back to France. They asked for volunteers willing to renounce the Republic and serve as privates in the Royalist Army.
"I took that course and for some weeks had to submit to training under strict supervision. I was, though, buoyed up by the rumour that the Quiberon expedition was preparing, and hoped to be sent upon it; for once in Brittany it would have been easy for me to desert. But my battalion was not sent with the first invading force, and when the news came that the landings had been a failure, our embarkation orders were cancelled. I had then to remain on there with such patience as I could until six weeks ago, when we were despatched via Hanover to join de Condi's army on the Rhine. As you can imagine, once there I lost not a night, but stole a horse and rode for Paris. I entered the city no more than two hours ago, and without even taking time to get a meal came straight to you."
As Roger ended this dramatic account of his fictitious adventures he flung open his coat and cried: "Look! Have you ever before seen the uniform of an emigre ? The poor devils have only the cast-offs of the Austrians, upon which are sewn special facings. But I possessed no other clothes to come in."
"Well, I'll be damned." Barras's hearty laugh rang out. "What a time you have had, my poor friend, through your zeal to serve the Republic. But you must be starving. Come into the dining-room, and my people shall bring you food and wine upon the instant"
At last, Roger could breathe freely. Fouché had not lied, and the jovial Barras had swallowed his story, hook, line and sinker. But as they turned away from the door a violent banging sounded upon it
With the courage that was one of Barras's greatest assets, although it might have been a mob coming to kill him, he did not call for a servant to open it, or even pull the pistol from his sash. Without a second's hesitation he opened it himself. On the door-step stood two officers of the Convention Guard. One of them gasped out:
"Citizen Commissioner! General Menou has betrayed us! He has jammed? his men into a few streets adjacent to the Filles de St. Thomas. The houses in them are packed with National Guards, who man all the upstairs windows. Our troops have been led into a trap, for should they now raise a finger they will be butchered."
Thrusting a despatch into Barras's hand, he hurried on: "This is from the Convention. They beg you to take charge in this terrible emergency and save them, By it they appoint you Commandant General of Paris."
The other officer nodded, and burst out: "You are our only hope! We are five battalions at the most, with only a rabble of undisciplined patriots to stand by us. Thirty-nine out of the forty Sections of Paris nave declared for the insurgents. They can now muster near forty thousand National Guards, so we are hopelessly outnumbered. As Commandant General on 9th Thermidor you saved the Republic. You are the only man whom we can hope may save it again.''
With a laugh Barras thrust the commission into his sash, and cried: "So be it then! I'll teach these miserable plotters a lesson, or die for it."
Then he turned and slapped Roger on the shoulder. "Old friend, you could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. You were as good as another right hand to me on 9th Thermidor, and you shall be so again. Get yourself a sword! There are a dozen in the rack. And follow me!"
It was the sort of courageous cry that went straight to Roger's heart. Turning swiftly he stretched out a hand to take a weapon from the hall sword rack. He had barely grasped it when he was seized with sudden dismay. Like a bolt from the blue a paralysing thought struck him. He had landed himself on the wrong side of the barricades.
chapter XXII
THE UNFORESEEN FACTOR
There was no way in which Roger could get out of his most unhappy predicament. Barras had already acclaimed him in front of the two officers as a long lost comrade returned to the fold. Nothing could possibly have suited him better had it occurred a few days earlier. Then, he would have had the opportunity he had taken such risks to gain of re-establishing on a sate footing his connection with a score of other political leaders. That would have committed him to nothing. When the insurrection developed he could have pretended illness, so as not to have become involved on either side, awaited its outcome, then entered into secret negotiation with the most promising men of the party that emerged triumphant.
But now he was committed, and committed irrevocably, to serve the party whose downfall it was his object to bring about. If he refused to accept the role that Barras had thrust upon him he would instantly lose his regained status as a good Republican. Should the Convention succeed in suppressing the insurrection, that would deprive him of all credit with many of his old associates and, at worst, possibly lead to his arrest as a traitor.
On the other hand, to be seen by scores of people at Barras's side, fighting the forces of reaction, might land him in still graver difficulties. For, should the insurrection succeed, its leaders, amongst whom must obviously be the men most likely to lend a favourable ear to the proposals he wished to make, would put no trust in him. Worse still, unless he could escape, he would probably be arrested with Barras, and share his fate. Either way it now looked as if he stood a good chance of being sentenced to the 'dry guillotine' and transported to Cayenne.
Faced with this most distressing dilemma he decided, after only a moment's hesitation, that to sacrifice Barras's confidence immediately after having so fully regained it would be both rash and foolish. He must at least pretend to stand by his old colleague for the moment, and trust that as the situation developed some means would offer by which he might safeguard his future. Grasping the sword more firmly he hurried after Barras down the steps into the street.
The two officers had come in a coach. Barras entered it with them, while Roger mounted his horse in readiness to accompany the vehicle. The evening had been dark and blustery, but now the wind had dropped and rain was sheeting down. That was all to the good, as it had already driven numerous bands of malcontents off the streets who might have held up the coach, and on finding Barras in it attempted to lynch him. Even as it was, the coach was three times challenged by pickets of National Guards, out on shouting that they were 'Sectionists on their way to a meeting' it was allowed to pass. Soon after midnight, much relieved, they arrived at the Ministry of War in the Boulevard des Capucines.
Barras showed his commission as Commander-in-Chief to a duty officer down in the hall; then they all went up to a big room on the first floor. In it a dozen officers with gloomy faces were sitting and standing about Only one of them appeared to be doing any work; a thin, dark-haired young man in the stained and worn uniform of a Brigadier-General. He was seated at a table, poring over a big map, a pair of dividers in his hand, with which he was measuring distances upon it