by the monstrous crime of the execution of the King. Hitherto those rulers might have thought of advantages to themselves in the paralysis which the revolution had laid upon France. They might have imagined that they would be strengthened by her removal from competition in the world's affairs. But now all this was changed. France as now governed was rightly perceived to be a canker-spot of anarchy, a peril to civilization. Already the revolutionaries were disclosing their aims to reform the whole world in accordance with their own ideas—ideas which must always find response among the worthless of every nation, for they were ideas which gave the worthless the opportunities from which in a well-ordered society their worthlessness must exclude them. In France the lowest scoundrels, the very riff-raff of the Nation, were in the saddle, and their agents abroad were already at work disseminating these pestilent, poisonous, anarchical doctrines: in Switzerland, in Belgium, in Italy, and in England, the first hissings of this foul serpent were already to be heard. Could any man of vision really suppose that the great powers of Europe would remain indifferent in the face of this? Was it not evident that for their own sake, for the sake of their self-preservation, they must rise up without delay and unite in extirpating this canker, in delivering France from her present evil thraldom, and purifying her of her disease before the contagion spread to themselves?
Already from England, from Russia, from Austria, and elsewhere Monsieur's agents wrote to inform him that activity was astir. D'Entragues could tell them of the extent of this, of the imminence of action, decisive action which must bring the revolutionaries to their knees at any moment. That very morning d'Entragues, as he could tell them, had received word that England had now joined the coalition against France. It was great news if they properly considered its significance. Hitherto, Pitt had been profiting by the French Revolution to magnify England, just as Richelieu had profited by the English crisis of 1640 to ensure the ascendancy of France. Yet now they heard that Chauvelin, the Republican minister in London, had been dismissed the Court of Saint James's. There was a state of war between England and revolutionary France.
'Revive your faith, then, my dear Gavrillac,' the Regent concluded. 'Postpone decisions wrung from you by present transient necessities. As for these, had I but known that they are pressing, restricted as are the means at my disposal, I could not have consented to receive without remuneration the valuable secretarial services you have been discharging. D'Avaray here will provide for that in the future. You will see to it at once, d'Avaray; so that from now onwards our good Gavrillac need be under no financial anxiety.'
Confused, confounded, shamed out of all further resistance, Monsieur de Kercadiou began a quavering protest.
'Ah, but, Monseigneur, aware as I am of the slenderness of your own resources, I could not accept ...'
He was interrupted almost sternly. 'Not another word, monsieur. I do no more than my duty by a zealous servant in depriving him of every pretext to run counter to my wishes.'
Bewildered, Monsieur de Kercadiou could only bow submission, and then a knock at the door came to seal a discussion which his Highness had indicated was at an end. Monsieur de Kercadiou moved away, mopping his brow.
Plougastel went to open. A servant in plain livery entered and stood murmuring to the Count. The Count turned to the Regent. His pompous, affected voice made an announcement.
'Monsieur de Batz is here, Monseigneur.'
'Monsieur de Batz!' There was surprise in the tone. The fleshly face grew set, the full, sensual mouth tightened. 'Monsieur de Batz!' he repeated, this time on a note of scorn. 'He has returned, then? For what has he returned?' He looked round as he asked the question.
'Would it not be well to let him tell you, Monseigneur?' ventured d'Entragues.
The liquid eyes stared at him from under knit brows. Then his Highness shrugged his heavy shoulders, and spoke to Plougastel. 'Very well. Let him be admitted since he has the effrontery to present himself.'
CHAPTER XI
THE SPLENDID FAILURE
That Monsieur de Batz was certainly not lacking in effrontery his carriage showed. He came in with a swagger.
Although he had arrived in Hamm within the hour, he displayed no stains of travel. A person of neat, tidy habits, he had carefully restored himself to order at the inn. He wore an apricot velvet coat and black satin smalls, stockings of black silk and red-heeled shoes with silver buckles. He carried a three-cornered hat adorned by a white cockade. His brown hair was carefully clubbed.
He came forward briskly, his keen, lively eyes throwing passing glances of recognition at the attendant gentlemen. He halted, waited a moment for the Regent to extend his hand, but he was nowise abashed when this did not happen. He bowed, his face set in lines of utmost gravity, and waited as the etiquette prescribed for his Highness to address him.
The Regent, half-twisted in his chair, considered him without friendliness.
'So you have returned, Monsieur de Batz. We were not expecting you.' He paused, and added coldly: 'We are not pleased with you, Monsieur de Batz.'
'Faith, I'm not pleased with myself,' said the Baron, whom nothing could put out of countenance.
'We wonder that you should have troubled to return.'
'I come to render my accounts, Monseigneur.'
'They are rendered. The events have rendered them. They have very fully reported your failure.'
The Gascon knit his brows. 'With submission, Monseigneur, I cannot control Fate. I cannot say to Destiny: "Halte-là! It is de Batz who passes."'
'Ah! You lay the blame on Destiny? She is the scapegoat of every incompetent.'
'I am not of those, Monseigneur. If I were not extremely competent, I should not be here. By now I should have put my head through the little window of the guillotine, in Paris.'
'Your failure leaves you unabashed, sir.'
'Failure must be measured by the attempt. I attempted a miracle with no more than ordinary human powers.'
'You were very confident of being able to perform it when you induced us to entrust you with the task.'
'Will your Highness suffer a question? Was there, amongst all the twenty thousand French exiles who followed you at the time, any other who begged to be entrusted with it?'
'Another might have been found. I should have sought him, no doubt, but for your overweening confidence in your own powers to save the King.'
Still de Batz kept his countenance in the face of this monstrous obstinacy in ingratitude. But he could not quite exclude asperity from his reply.
'Your Highness would have sought him had it occurred to you that such an attempt was possible. It does not follow that your Highness would have found him. But it does follow that had you found him, he must have failed.'
'Must have failed? And why, if you please?'
'Because I failed. And where I failed, I'll take leave to inform your Highness that no man could have succeeded.'
In the group by the table behind him someone laughed. De Batz quivered as if he had been struck. But it was scarcely perceptible, and beyond this he gave no sign. Monsieur was regarding him in cold incredulity.
'Still, and in spite of all, the boastful Gascon!'
This was too much even for de Batz's self-control. He permitted his tone to express an infinite bitterness. 'Your Highness is pleased to rebuke me.'
His Highness was annoyed by the imputation of injustice. 'Have you not deserved it, monsieur? Did you not win our trust by your emphatic assertions, your boastful promises? Did you not pledge me your word that you would bring the King safely out of Paris if I would entrust you with the means? I gave liberally, all that you demanded, out of a treasury from which we could ill spare the gold; gold which today might be used to