"Guard well your prisoner till my return. Allow him to communicate with no one. Should he attempt to call out, gag him. But harm him not, or you shall suffer for it." Then turning once more to St. Just, "Au revoir, my husband, I shall return anon."
St. Just scowled at her, but made no reply. Then she left him.
Two days later, on the 30th of June, Captain Maitland commanding H.M.S. Bellerophon received a quill that contained a note inscribed on tissue paper. It was to warn him that Napoleon purposed leaving Rochefort for America on the 3rd July, and to keep a sharp look-out to frustrate the attempt.
It is a matter of history how, in consequence of the vigilance of the English—eleven British men-of-war were cruising off the port—who had received intelligence of his intention, Napoleon found it impossible to get away.
Thus Halima's interview with Fouché had not been abortive, and, at last, she had the satisfaction of feeling that she had struck a decisive blow at the man she had chosen to consider as her enemy, and had so persistently and, for the most part, fruitlessly conspired against.
Two hours later Halima returned to St. Just's apartments in the Hotel Mirabeau. She found him seated in a chair, with his hands and feet still bound and the two men guarding him.
The look of triumph on her face at her departure was no longer there; now she showed trouble and depression—even fear. She had had time to think, and, with reflection, had come the dread that she had offended her husband past forgiveness. For years she had been dominated by two emotions—a craving to achieve the ruin of Napoleon; and passion for her husband—not, for a moment, that she was true to him when he was absent. Of these, the former had been far the stronger. But now, this was satisfied. She was free to devote herself entirely to her husband, to let her passion for him have full play. More than anything, she now desired to regain his love. But alas! she greatly feared she had strained it past resilience; it was like a spring that had been over-bent. She came in, shame-facedly, almost abjectly, tremblingly, walking, like Agag, "delicately."
St. Just glanced sternly at her and frowned ominously.
"Why have you returned?" he asked; "to flout me with the tidings that you have added yet another to the already crushing misfortunes of France's greatest son."
"That I have prevented the escape from justice of her greatest criminal."