St. Just had not miscalculated, for, three days after his return to Paris, he received a summons from the wily statesman who at that time directed the Foreign Affairs of France.
Talleyrand suggested that he should go back to England and remain there, until otherwise instructed, as a secret agent of the French Government. He would have to learn all he could of the movements of the émigrés and the plans of the English Government, and report them to his own. Further, he would have to execute such instructions as he received.
The proposal was a compliment to his sagacity and discretion, and so St. Just received it, and was proportionately gratified. Coming from the quarter whence it did, it amounted to a command that, even had he desired to do so, he would not have dared to disobey.
St. Just knew this well; so, without the slightest hesitation, and with professions of gratitude and allegiance to the Republic, he accepted the offer made him.
He was given a week for his arrangements; then he was to start for England.
On leaving the minister, he made his way at once to Halima. Now that it was known to the authorities that he was alive and had returned to Paris, there was no further need for secrecy in his intercourse with his wife; he could visit Auteuil openly, and as often as he liked.
At first Halima was indignant when she heard of the mission he had undertaken, and she upbraided him, affecting to believe that he had accepted it in order to get away from her. This was too monstrous, and he indignantly repudiated the imputation, which, he said, could not have been made seriously. No one knew better than herself the sacrifices he had made for her. He trusted it was only an outburst of ill-temper—anger and disappointment at the prospect of their being parted; and this he told her, and she admitted it, saying that she knew he loved her. Then she tried her woman's wiles on him; throwing her arms around his neck, with mingled embraces, tears and kisses, she besought him not to leave her; told him that she loved him more than life, that it would be cruel to desert her; that she would die without him. He must tell Mons. de Talleyrand that, on reconsideration, he felt himself unequal to the work required of him, and must beg to be excused.
He pointed out to her the impossibility, the madness of such a course, and at last succeeded in convincing her that, were he to do what she suggested, it would defeat the very object they had in view—the enjoyment of each other's company, that he would at once become an object of suspicion, would be watched and would speedily find himself arrested. Thus they would be separated. Reluctantly, she was compelled to admit the force of what he said.
"Let me think," she said when he had finished speaking. Her first fury had spent itself, and, having regard to her emotional nature, she was calm.
It was several minutes before she spoke again.