“He said, ‘I am infatuated with Louise.’”
All right; she doesn’t believe that; but let’s get on.
“He was serious? How did he say it?”
“How?”
“How.”
“In the usual four-in-the-morning manner.”
“And what is that?”
“When you’re married, you will have the opportunity to find out.”
“Sometimes,” she said, “I think you’re evil. It’s a strong word, I know, but I do think it.”
Camille lowered his eyelashes bashfully. “One tries, of course. But Louise, you shouldn’t be too brutal with me, because you’re going to have to live with me, in a manner of speaking. Unless you’re going to try and turn him down, but you wouldn’t try that, would you?”
“I’ll see. But I don’t necessarily believe you. About anything.”
“He wants to sleep with you, that’s the thing, you see. He can’t think of any way of doing it, except by marrying you. An honorable man, Georges-Jacques. An honorable, peaceable, domestic sort, he is. If I had formed the ambition, of course, it would be rather different.”
Camille suddenly slumped forward, elbows on the desk, hands over his mouth. For a moment she didn’t know whether he was laughing or crying, but it soon became apparent which it was. “You can laugh if you want,” she said bleakly, “I’m getting used to it.”
“Oh good, good. When I tell Fabre,” he said between sobs and gasps, “about this conversation—he won’t believe me.” He wiped his eyes. “There’s a lot you must get used to, I’m afraid.”
She looked down at him. “Aren’t you cold like that?”
“Yes.” He stood up. “I suppose I had better get myself together. Georges-Jacques and I are being elected to a committee today.”
“Which committee?”
“You don’t really want the details, do you?”
“How can you know, anyway, until the election is held?”
“Oh, you have a great deal to learn.”
“I want him out of politics.”
“Over my dead body,” Camille said.
Dawn looked peevish, a sullen red sun. She felt sullied by the encounter. Danton slept on.
Danton spoke to the Convention, later to the Jacobin Club. “More than once I was tempted to have Dumouriez arrested. But, I said to myself, if I take this drastic step, and the enemy learns of it—think what it will do for their morale. If they had profited by my decision, I might even be suspected of treachery. Citizens, I put it to you—what would you have done in my place?”
“Well, what would you have done?” he asked Robespierre. April has almost come in; there is a stiff fresh night breeze on the rue Honore. “We’ll walk home with you. I’ll pay my respects to your wife, Duplay.”
“You’re very welcome, Citizen Danton.”
Saint-Just spoke. “It does seem to be one of those situations when it would have been better to do
“Sometimes it’s better to wait and see, Citizen Saint-Just. Does that ever occur to you?”
“I would have arrested him.”
“But you weren’t there, you don’t know. You don’t know the state of the armies, there is so much to understand.”
“No, of course I don’t know. But why did you seek our opinions if you were going to shout them down?”
“He didn’t seek yours,” Camille said. “It is not though he values it.”
“I shall have to go to the front myself,” Saint-Just said, “and begin to penetrate these mysteries.”
“Oh, good,” Camille said.
“Will you stop being so childish?” Robespierre asked him. “Well, Danton, as long as you’re satisfied in your own mind, as long as you acted in good faith, what more can one ask?”
“I can think of more,” Saint-Just said under his breath.
In the Duplay yard, Brount ran out grumbling to the end of his chain. Approached, he placed his paws on his master’s shoulders. Robespierre had a word with him; along the lines, one supposed, of containing himself in patience, until perfect liberty was practicable. They went into the house. The Robespierre women (as one tended to think of them now) were all on display. Madame looked actively, rather intimidatingly benevolent; it was her aim in life to find a Jacobin who was hungry, then to go into the kitchen and make extravagant efforts, and say, “I have fed a patriot!” Robespierre, in this respect, was no use to her. He seemed to spurn her best efforts.
They sat in the parlor where Robespierre’s portraits were hung. Danton looked around him, Robespierre looked back: smiling, half-smiling or earnest, delicate in profile or tense and combative full-face, studious or amused, with a dog, with another dog, without a dog. The original seemed no more than an item in the display; he was quiet tonight, while they talked of Brissot, Roland, Vergniaud. The interminable topics: young Philippe Lebas moved into a corner and began to whisper with Babette. He was not to be blamed, Danton thought. Robespierre caught Danton’s
