He forced an ugly smile.
"Oh, well, as you please," he said. "Let the girl go. There are other fish in the sea. Best let Cléry go too, and then they can make a match of it, unless she should prefer Dangeau."
His intent eyes saw the girl's face change at that. "A thousand devils!" she burst out. "Why do you plague me, Hébert? Be civil and play fair, and you 'll get what you want."
"Come, come, Thérèse," he said soothingly. "We both want the same thing—to teach a stuck-up baggage of an aristocrat a lesson. Let's be friends again, and give me the news. Is it any good?"
"Good enough," said Thérèse, with a sulky look,—"good enough to take her out of my way, if I say the word. Why, she 's a cousin of the ci-devant Montargis, who got so prettily served on the third of September."
"What?" exclaimed Hébert.
"Ah! you never guessed that, and you 'd never have got it out of Rosalie; for she 's as close as the devil, and I believe has a sneaking fondness for the girl."
"The Montargis!" repeated Hébert, rubbing his hands, slowly. This was better than he expected. No wonder the girl went in terror! He had heard the Paris mob howl for the blood of the Austrian spy, and he knew that a word now would seal her fate.
"Her name?" he demanded.
"Rochambeau—Aline de Rochambeau. She only clipped the tail off, you see, and with a taste that way, she should have no objection to a head clipping—eh, my friend?" said Thérèse, with a short laugh.