Nevertheless, thoughts of that attempted theft disturbed Chauvelin's
equanimity. The old legend of the crumpled roseleaf was applicable in
his case. Something of his intense satisfaction would pale if this final
enterprise of the audacious adventurer were to be brought to a
triumphant close in the end.

VII

That same forenoon, on his return from the Abbaye and the depot,
Chauvelin found that a visitor was waiting for him. A woman, who gave
her name as Jeannette Marechal, desired to speak with the citizen
Representative. Chauvelin knew the woman as his colleague Marat's maid-
of-all-work, and he gave orders that she should be admitted at once.

Jeannette Marechal, tearful and not a little frightened, assured the
citizen Representative that her errand was urgent. Her late employer had
so few friends; she did not know to whom to turn until she bethought
herself of citizen Chauvelin. It took him some little time to
disentangle the tangible facts out of the woman's voluble narrative. At
first the words: "Child... Chemin de Pantin... Leridan," were only a
medley of sounds which conveyed no meaning to his ear. But when occasion
demanded, citizen Chauvelin was capable of infinite patience. Gradually
he understood what the woman was driving at.

"The child, citizen!" she reiterated excitedly. "What's to be done about
him? I know that citizen Marat would have wished--"

"Never mind now what citizen Marat would have wished," Chauvelin broke
in quietly. "Tell me first who this child is."