"And on the ground of this fact shall he be apprehended," cried
Bonaparte, with a threatening voice.
"There must be an example made, and this Louis is a suitable person for it. He must be the bete de souffrance for all the rest. He is the head of a conspiracy; we will crush this head, and the limbs will fall of themselves. Besides the sensitive souls who love nurses' stories and believe in every thing, there will be no one who will weep for him. No one will lament his death, but he will be a warning to all. Direct yourself to this, Fouche, and set all the infernal machines of your intrigues in operation that we may put an end to conspiracy."
"General, only one thing is wanting; it is that I be at the head of the police, and have the power in my hands to make my infernal machines effectual."
"But I have told you that I will appoint you as minister only when you give me incontrovertible proofs that your conspiracies are not the fabric of your own phantasy."
"Very well, general, now that we are at one, I am prepared to give you these proofs. I have told you that the royalists and republicans have united for the purpose of taking your life. They have chosen fifty men by ballot, in foreign parts, who are to come to Paris and accomplish here the great work of your destruction. These fifty assassins have arrived in Paris, and their chief men had an interview yesterday with the chiefs of the conspiracies here."
"Fouche!" cried Bonaparte, with a threatening voice, "think well what you are saying. You are playing for the stake of your own head! If these fifty assassins are creatures of your own imagination, it is you who will have to pay for it."
"These fifty men have been in Paris since the day before yesterday," rejoined Fouche, quietly. "They came hither by different roads, and appearing like simple travellers, and yesterday they had their first interview with the chief of the republican party."
"Who is this chief? Name him, or I will call you a liar and impostor!"
"This chief," said Fouche, slowly, and measuring every word, "this chief is General Moreau."
Bonaparte uttered a low cry, an ashy paleness suffused his cheeks; he pressed his lips together, and his eyes flamed out such darts of rage that even Fouche trembled and lowered his gaze.