“Yes, but you know, in a deeper sense …where does he come from?” Louis shifted his heavy body uncomfortably in his chair. Of the two men, he looked rather older. “Like you, I recognize you. You are what we call an adventurer. And M. Brissot is a faddist—he is a man who holds all the ideas of his time, just because they are current. And M. Danton I recognize—for he is one of those brutal demagogues we find in our history books. But M. Robespierre … You see, if only I knew what the man wanted. Perhaps I could give it him, and that would be an end of it.” He slumped. “Something of a mystery there, don’t you think?”
General Dumouriez bowed again. Louis did not notice him go.
A corridor away, Brissot waited for his favorite general. “You have your government,” Dumouriez told him.
“You seem depressed,” Brissot said sharply. “Something gone wrong?”
“No—just the epithets His Majesty has been hanging on me.”
“He was offensive? He is not in a position to be.”
“I did not say he was offensive.”
Their eyes rested on each other, just for a second. They did not trust each other, even slightly. Then Dumouriez touched Brissot on the shoulder, with a sportive air. “A Jacobin ministry, my dear fellow. Seemed unthinkable, only a short while ago.”
“And on the question of war?”
“I did not press him. But I think I can guarantee you hostilities within the month.”
“There must be war. The greatest possible disaster would be peace. You agree?”
Dumouriez turned his cane about in his fingers. “How not? I’m a soldier. I have my career to think of. Wonderful opportunity for all sorts of things.”
“Try it,” said Vergniaud. “Give the court the fright of its life. Can’t resist the idea.”
“Robespierre—” Brissot called.
Robespierre stopped. “Vergniaud,” he said. “Petion. Brissot.” Having named them, he seemed satisfied.
“We have a proposal.”
“I know your proposal. You propose to make us slaves again.”
Petion held up a placating hand. He was a larger, stouter man than when Robespierre had first known him, and satin success had settled in his face.
“I think we need not traffic in the small change of the debating chamber,” Vergniaud suggested. “We could have private talks.”
“I want no private talks.”
“Believe me,” Brissot said, “believe me, Robespierre, we wish you would come with us on the war question. The intolerable meddling in our internal affairs—”
“Why do you think of fighting Austria and England, when your enemy is here at home?”
“You mean there?” With a motion of his head, Vergniaud indicated the direction of the King’s apartments in the Tuileries.
“There, yes—and all around us.”
“With our friends in the ministry,” Petion said, “we can take care of them.”
“Let me go.” Robespierre pushed past them.
“He is becoming morbidly suspicious,” Petion said. “I used to be his friend. Not to mince matters, I fear for his sanity.”
“He has a following,” Vergniaud said.
Brissot pursued Robespierre, took him by the elbow. Vergniaud watched them. “A good ratting dog,” he observed.
“Eh?” Petion said.
Brissot was still at Robespierre’s heels.
“Robespierre, we were speaking of the ministry—we are offering you a situation.”
Robespierre broke away. He pulled down the sleeve of his coat. “I want no situation,” he said somberly. “And there is no situation suitable for me.”
“Fourth floor?” said Dumouriez. “Is he poverty-stricken, this Roland, that he lives on the fourth floor?”
“Paris costs money,” Brissot said defensively. His chest heaved.
“Really,” Dumouriez was irritated, “you don’t have to run after me if you can’t stand the pace. I would have waited; I have no intention of going in alone. Now: are you quite sure about this?”
“Proven administrator”—Brissot gasped—“and record of service—and sound attitudes—and wife—great capabilities—utter dedication—to our aims.”
“Yes, I think I followed that,” Dumouriez said. He did not think they had many aims in common.
Manon answered the door herself. She was little disheveled, and she had been very, very bored.
General Dumouriez kissed her hand with an excess of old regime politeness. “Monsieur?” he inquired.
“He is just now sleeping.”
“I think you could put it to Madame,” Brissot suggested.
