"I am not so easily to be terrified, Citoyen," said I; "nor have I any secret cause for fear—whatever you may have. My business is of another kind. This morning, in passing out to his carriage, he dropped his pocket-book, which I picked up. Its contents may well be of a kind that should not be read by other eyes than his own. My request is, then, that you will seal it up before me, and then send some one along with me, while I restore it to its owner."
"Is this a snare—what secret mischief have we here?" said Boivin, half aloud, as he wiped the cold drops of perspiration from his forehead.
"Any mishap that follows will depend upon your refusal to do what I ask."
"How so—I never refused it; you dare not tell M. Robespierre that I refused, sirrah?"
"I will tell him nothing that is untrue," said I, calmly; for already a sense of power had gifted me with composure. "If M. Robespierre—"
"Who speaks of me here?" cried that identical personage, as he dashed hurriedly into the room, and then, not waiting for the reply, went on, "You must send out your scouts on every side—I lost my pocket-book as I left this a while ago."
"It is here, sir," said I, presenting it at once.
"How—where was it found—in whose keeping has it been, boy?"
"In mine only; I took it from the ground the same moment that you dropped it, and then came here to place it in M. Boivin's hands."
"Who has taken care of it since that time," continued Robespierre, with a slow and sneering accentuation on every word.