Men who had lived through the years of the French Revolution were not readily astonished, but at this statement the Minister sat up and exclaimed: "Mon Dieu! What is this?"
"I am in damnable pain; I must be brief. I was waylaid near Bristol by Schmidt and De Courval, and when I would not stop, was shot by De Courval. They stole the despatch, and made me swear on threat of death that I had been attacked by men I did not know."
Fauchet was silent for a while, and then said: "That is a singular story—and that you kept the promise, still more singular."
"I did keep it. I had good reason to keep it." He realized, as he told the tale, how improbable it sounded, how entirely Fauchet disbelieved him. If he had not been dulled by opiates and racked past power of critical thought, he was far too able a man to have put forth so childish a tale. He knew at once that he was not believed.
"You do not believe me, Citizen."
"I do not. Why did you not tell me the truth at first?"
"It was not the threat to kill me which stopped me. I was of the tribunal at Avignon which condemned the ci-devant vicomte, the young man's father. To have had it known here would have been a serious thing to our party and for me ruin. I was ill, feeble, in their hands, and I promised Schmidt that I would put it all on some unknown person."
Fauchet listened. He entirely distrusted him. "Is that all? Do you expect any reasonable man to believe such a story?"
"Yes, I do. If I had told you at the time, you would have used my statement at once and I should have suffered. Now that both these cursed villains are gone, I can speak."