El Dorado | Page 3

on
that same day a new law giving fuller power to its spies, enabling them
to effect domiciliary searches at their discretion without previous
reference to the Committee of General Security, authorising them to
proceed against all enemies of public happiness, to send them to prison
at their own discretion, and assuring them the sum of thirty-five livres
"for every piece of game thus beaten up for the guillotine." Under that
same date the Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National
was filled to its utmost capacity for the revival of the late citoyen
Moliere's comedy.
The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which
placed the lives of thousands at the mercy of a few human bloodhounds,
adjourned its sitting and proceeded to the Rue de Richelieu.
Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made their
way to the seats which had been reserved for them. An awed hush
descended on the throng as one by one the men whose very names
inspired horror and dread filed in through the narrow gangways of the
stalls or took their places in the tiny boxes around.
Citizen Robespierre's neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of
these; his bosom friend St. Just was with him, and also his sister
Charlotte. Danton, like a big, shaggy-coated lion, elbowed his way into
the stalls, whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and idol of the people
of Paris, was loudly acclaimed as his huge frame, gorgeously clad in
the uniform of the National Guard, was sighted on one of the tiers
above.
The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered excitedly; the
awe-inspiring names flew about hither and thither on the wings of the
overheated air. Women craned their necks to catch sight of heads which

mayhap on the morrow would roll into the gruesome basket at the foot
of the guillotine.
In one of the tiny avant-scene boxes two men had taken their seats long
before the bulk of the audience had begun to assemble in the house.
The inside of the box was in complete darkness, and the narrow
opening which allowed but a sorry view of one side of the stage helped
to conceal rather than display the occupants.
The younger one of these two men appeared to be something of a
stranger in Paris, for as the public men and the well-known members of
the Government began to arrive he often turned to his companion for
information regarding these notorious personalities.
"Tell me, de Batz," he said, calling the other's attention to a group of
men who had just entered the house, "that creature there in the green
coat--with his hand up to his face now--who is he?"
"Where? Which do you mean?"
"There! He looks this way now, and he has a playbill in his hand. The
man with the protruding chin and the convex forehead, a face like a
marmoset, and eyes like a jackal. What?"
The other leaned over the edge of the box, and his small, restless eyes
wandered over the now closely-packed auditorium.
"Oh!" he said as soon as he recognised the face which his friend had
pointed out to him, "that is citizen Foucquier-Tinville."
"The Public Prosecutor?"
"Himself. And Heron is the man next to him."
"Heron?" said the younger man interrogatively.
"Yes. He is chief agent to the Committee of General Security now."
"What does that mean?"

Both leaned back in their chairs, and their sombrely-clad figures were
once more merged in the gloom of the narrow box. Instinctively, since
the name of the Public Prosecutor had been mentioned between them,
they had allowed their voices to sink to a whisper.
The older man--a stoutish, florid-looking individual, with small, keen
eyes, and skin pitted with small-pox--shrugged his shoulders at his
friend's question, and then said with an air of contemptuous
indifference:
"It means, my good St. Just, that these two men whom you see down
there, calmly conning the programme of this evening's entertainment,
and preparing to enjoy themselves to-night in the company of the late
M. de Moliere, are two hell-hounds as powerful as they are cunning."
"Yes, yes," said St. Just, and much against his will a slight shudder ran
through his slim figure as he spoke. "Foucquier-Tinville I know; I
know his cunning, and I know his power--but the other?"
"The other?" retorted de Batz lightly. "Heron? Let me tell you, my
friend, that even the might and lust of that damned Public Prosecutor
pale before the power of Heron!"
"But how? I do not understand."
"Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though no
doubt the main plot of our hideous tragedy has reached your ken, you
have no cognisance of the actors who play the