"Once his wife is dead, the Englishman will never run his head into the noose which I have so carefully prepared for him." "So you say, Chauvelin; and therefore I suggested to you certain measures to prevent the woman escaping which you will find adequate, I hope." "You need have no fear, Citizen Collot," said Chauvelin curtly, "this woman will make no attempt at escape now." "If she does..." and Collot d'Herbois swore an obscene oath.
"I think she understands that we mean to put our threat in execution." "Threat ?...

It was no empty threat, Citizen....

Sacre tonnerre! if that woman escapes now, by all the devils in hell I swear that I'll wield the guillotine myself and cut off the head of every able-bodied man or woman in Boulogne, with my own hands." As he said this his face assumed such an expression of inhuman cruelty, such a desire to kill, such a savage lust for blood, that instinctively Chauvelin shuddered and shrank away from his colleague.

All through his career there is no doubt that this man, who was of gentle birth, of gentle breeding, and who had once been called M.le Marquis de Chauvelin, must have suffered in his susceptibilities and in his pride when in contact with the revolutionaries with whom he had chosen to cast his lot.

He could not have thrown off all his old ideas of refinement quite so easily, as to feel happy in the presence of such men as Collot d'Herbois, or Marat in his day--men who had become brute beasts, more ferocious far than any wild animal, more scientifically cruel than any feline prowler in jungle or desert.
One look in Collot's distorted face was sufficient at this moment to convince Chauvelin that it were useless for him to view the proclamation against the citizens of Boulogne merely as an idle threat, even if he had wished to do so.