In the autumn of '93 a Liberal reaction had taken place in Lyons, which resulted in a noted revolutionary named Chalier being executed. Robespierre had sent Collot d'Herbois and Fouche to purge the city. With merciless frenzy they had attacked the bourgeoisie, throwing hundreds of them into prison, looting their homes from garret to cellar and even stripping them of their clothes. Their final enormity had been to enjoy, from a dais they had erected in a field, a spectacle of mass murder. Scores of prisoners lashed together in couples had been lined up in front of two trenches, then mown down by grape-shot fired from cannon at close quarters. Those who survived the blasts were then hacked to pieces by the troops, on the orders of Collot and Fouche.
But in the summer of '9', Robespierre's egomania began to be dreaded even by his closest collaborators. The slightest deviation from his principles by one of his followers could lead to that rash individual's head landing in the basket of the guillotine within twenty-four hours. As the pnly hope of saving themselves, Fouche, Tallien, Freron and other terrorists had conspired with some of the Moderate leaders and it was Robespierre who had gone to the guillotine. By timely turning of his coat Fouche had saved his life, but had bought it at the price of his career. Having made use of him, the Thermidorians had thrown him aside and for four years he had been compelled to eat in poverty the bitter bread of frustrated ambition.
Such was the man upon whose pleasure Roger waited.
And wait he did. Half an hour went by, an hour, two hours, yet still no one came for him. At half past eleven he went out to the bearded official and sent a message up that M. de Talleyrand was expecting him at twelve; so he could not remain there much longer. A reply came down that the Minister regretted the delay. Would he be good enough to return at six o'clock?
Having said that he would, he left the building. His interminable wait had frayed his nerves almost to breaking-point and now he had another six hours to get through somehow before he would know Fouche's intentions towards him. Hailing a hackney-coach, he had himself driven to the Rue Taitbout. Talleyrand received him with his usual affability, listened sympathetically to his angry account of the way in which he had been treated, then said:
'To keep you on tenterhooks like this is typical of Fouche's methods. He hopes to undermine your confidence in yourself. You must not let him. It is obvious that this wretched business has already had a serious effect on you. If you brood on it all the afternoon that may prove disastrous. I shall prescribe for you. First, a good gallop. I will order a horse to be saddled. Ride him out to Vincennes and ride hard. If you kill the animal, no matter. On your return, go to a fencing school. Spend two hours there and fight at least six bouts. Then dinner. Eat fish, not meat, for that is heavy and would dull your brain. With dinner a pint of champagne, but no other alcohol either before or after. Tonight I am holding a reception. I shall hope that you will be free to attend it. But, should you not, Bonaparte will be here and I will tell him of my fears for you.'
With a thin smile, Roger thanked him for his counsel and promised to follow it. The fresh air and violent exercise did him a world of good. Soon after five o'clock he sat down at La Belle litoile to a large Sole Colbert, and took with it his ' medicine as directed'. At six o'clock he was back at the Ministry of Police, still extremely anxious but now able to make himself look as though he had nothing to worry about.
This time he was taken straight upstairs to the Minister's room, a large apartment the walls of which were entirely hidden by row upon row of filing cabinets. Fouché was sitting at a big desk with his back to a tall window, but it was now dark and lamps had been lit which shed their light only on his desk and on any visitor seated opposite him.
He was now forty and, in appearance, quite exceptionally unattractive. Although strong, his tall body was so lean and angular that it gave the impression that he was suffering from some wasting disease. His face was thin and bony, with the complexion of a corpse. From the point of his large, sharp nose there frequently hung a drop, as all his life he suffered from a perpetual cold. His red hair was sparse and brushed over his scalp in rats' tails. His lips were thin and his heavily lidded eyes greenish. They had a fish-like appearance, but few people had ever looked right into them because, when talking to anyone, he always kept his glance averted. Nobody who did not know him would have thought it possible that he was capable of working twenty hours a day, as he often did for long periods; for he seemed to be so drained of all vitality that within the week he would be measured for his coffin.
Without looking at Roger he stood up, made a slight bow, waved his bony hand towards the chair opposite his desk and said, ' So we old acquaintances meet again.'
' A classic phrase,' smiled Roger, sitting down. ' And I am happy to think that we are both better situated than when last we met.'
'I must congratulate you on having become a Colonel in the French Army.'
' And I you in having become Minister of Police.'
Fouche studied the fingernails of his right hand. ' You may also do so on another count. You will recall that when last we parted I was penniless and about to go into banishment. I have since succeeded in making for myself a . . . well, let us call it a modest fortune.'
' I am glad to hear it.'
'You will also recall that, on the occasion to which I refer, you gave me a hundred louis.'
' That is so,' Roger murmured, greatly surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. He thought it hardly possible that Fouche could have raised the matter with the intention of showing gratitude, but added:
' Instead of exile in penury, you had been counting on Barras giving you some minor appointment which would have supported you. You were, I remember, greatly distressed by the thought of the hardship your wife would have to endure. That was my reason for giving you a sum to go on with.'
'1 know it. At the time I believed that you had thrown it to me as a sop because you had cheated me. But later I learned that, although you had got the better of me by your wits, it was through no fault of yours that Barras treated me so abominably. I am now able to repay your generous gesture.'
As he spoke, Fouche produced from a drawer in his desk a little sack. It clinked as he pushed it across to Roger, and he added, 'There are a hundred louis. The hundred you lent me proved the basis of my fortune.'
Scarcely able to believe his eyes and ears, Roger leaned forward, took up the sack, and said with a smile, ' Many thanks, Monsieur le Ministre. You enable me to hope that, in future, relations between us may be more cordial.'
Fouche gave a loud sniff then, with a swift, covert glance from beneath his heavy eyelids, replied, '1 have only one regret. It is that I could not put guineas into the bag instead of louis. The coin of your own country might have proved more useful to you, Mr. Brook; er . . . that is, if my police had allowed you to get out of Paris with it.'
The Great Conspiracy
Roger's smile froze on his lips. In spite of his amazement at finding Fouche's attitude to him so different from the hostility he had expected, he had for a few moments allowed himself to be deceived into thinking that his old enemy had sent for him only to repay a debt. But nothing of the kind. He had simply been playing the sort of cat-and-mouse game in which he delighted. Again there arose in Roger's mind those awful visions of years spent forgotten in a dark dungeon in some remote fortress, or dying of yellow fever at Cayenne. With a supreme effort he succeeded in preventing his face from showing any marked reaction, and asked quietly: