were killed. All organized, you told Prudhomme and everybody within earshot. It’s all organized, no problem—when I was trying to deny any knowledge of it. The filthy business was necessary, but at least I had the grace of soul to pretend it was nothing to do with me. You, you’d have fluttered up to take the credit for the Massacre of the Innocents. So don’t look down on me from whatever ledge of higher morality you’re perched on today. You knew. You knew it all, from the beginning.”
“Yes,” Camille said, “but I didn’t expect you to be caught out like this.” He backed away, smiling. Gabrielle stared at him.
“Oh Camille,” she said, “you’d better take this seriously.”
“Bathe your face, Gabrielle,” her husband said. “Yes, because if those documents are made public, my future won’t be worth two sous, and neither will yours.”
“I think it might be bluff,” Camille said. “How would he have a note in your own handwriting?”
“Such a note does exist.”
“You’ve been a fool then, haven’t you? But look now, it is possible that de Molleville has at one time or another seen these documents—but would Mortmorin part with such a thing? For safekeeping, de Molleville implies—but what’s so safe about being on a cross-channel boat, and carried around in an
“You might be right, it’s possible you are, but de Molleville’s allegations could ruin me. If they’re circumstantial. If they’re detailed. They’ve been saying for long enough that I work for Pitt. In fact, at this moment—they will be expecting me in the Convention, now.”
“There’s no point in panicking, is there? If it is a bluff, if there are no documents, anything de Molleville says will carry much less weight. All you can do is hope it is. But I wonder—which president of the Convention is he talking about? Because today’s president is Vergniaud.”
Danton turned away. “Christ,” he said.
“Yes, I know. You’ve neglected either to bribe or to frighten him. How could you have been so remiss?”
“You’d better go now,” Gabrielle said. “Go now and speak for the King.”
“Give in to them?” Danton said. “I’d rather be dead. If I step in now, at this stage, they’ll say I’ve been bought, just as surely as if the documents become public. Either way, as soon as I turn my back I’ll get a patriot’s dagger between my shoulder blades. Ask him,” he yelled. “He’d put one there himself.”
The absurd question held in her eyes, Gabrielle turned her face to Camille.
“No doubt they’d ask me to help with the arrangements. After all, I wouldn’t want to share your fate.”
“Why don’t you go back to Robespierre?” Danton said.
“No, I’m staying with you, Georges-Jacques. I want to see what you do.”
“Go on, why don’t you run and tell him everything? You’ll be all right, he’ll look after you. Or are you afraid you’ve been replaced in his affections? You shouldn’t worry. You’ll always find somebody to run to. With your attributes.”
Gabrielle stood up. “Is this the way to keep your friends?” She had never spoken to him like this before. “You lamented the absence of your friends, but when they come to you, you insult them. I think you are trying to destroy yourself. I think you are conspiring with this man de Molleville to destroy yourself.”
“Wait,” Camille said. “Listen to me, Gabrielle—listen, both of you, before there’s a massacre. I’m quite unused to being the cool voice of reason, so don’t test my abilities in that line.” He turned to Danton. “If Vergniaud has the documents you’re finished, but would Vergniaud wait so long? Today is the last day when you could intervene in the debate. These are the last hours. He has been president three days now—we must wonder why he has not acted. We must wonder, at least, if he has the papers at all—or if it is some earlier president who has them. What is the date of the letter?”
“December 11.”
“Defermon was president.”
“He’s—”
“A worm.”
“A moderate, Gabrielle,” Danton said. “Surely though—he’s no friend of mine—and after all this time, four weeks, he’d have said something, done something … ?”
“I don’t know, Georges-Jacques. Perhaps you don’t know how much you frighten people. Why don’t you go to his house, and frighten him some more? If he has the papers, you’ve everything to gain. If he hasn’t, you’ve nothing to lose.”
“But if Vergniaud has them—”
“Then it will hardly matter, if you’ve terrified Defermon gratuitously. Nothing will matter, then. Don’t think of that. And don’t wait. Defermon may have a tender conscience. Because he has not spoken out so far doesn’t mean he will never speak. He may be waiting till the voting begins.”
Fabre missed the last words. “You’re back, Danton. And whatever has happened here?”
His immediate impression was that the quarrel—the inevitable quarrel—had come about at last. He had already heard that Danton had arrived in town and gone straight to the Desmoulins’s apartment. How the whole business had moved around the corner, he had yet to find out, but the air of the room was clogged with violence. He did not see de Molleville’s letter, because Gabrielle was sitting on it. “My dear, your face,” he said.
“I got in the way.”
“It was ever thus,” Fabre said, as if to himself. “Danton, one would never take you for the guilty party. No, you have the face of someone who has been wronged.”
“Fabre, what are you talking about?” Danton said.
