“There’s no need to get angry.”
“Sometimes I think I’ll just pack and go, go tomorrow, get out of this city, go back where I belong, farm my land—”
“Sentimental,” Robespierre said. “You can be, Danton, you know. Well, if you must you must, we’d prefer to have you with us but no one’s indispensable. Come and see me before you go, won’t you? We can have a few drinks or something.”
Robespierre resisted the temptation to look back, to where Danton stood gaping after him. He can be such fun to torment, he thought, with those big, blundering, uncouth emotions of his. No wonder Camille has spent ten years at it.
Camille lay on Robespierre’s bed looking up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. Robespierre sat at his desk. “Seems a peculiar business,” he said.
“Yes. There were dozens of women he could have married. She’s not that pretty, and she won’t bring him any money. He’s besotted with her, he’s lost his sense of proportion. And her family are royalists and possessed by religious mania.”
“No, I’m sorry, I was harking back to what we said earlier, about the Dumouriez business. Still, go on.”
“Oh, it’s just—she’s putting all sorts of ideas into his head.”
“I shouldn’t have thought a little girl like that could put ideas into Danton’s head.”
“At the moment he’s susceptible.”
“You mean, royalist ideas?”
“Not quite that, but he’s softening up. He said to me that he didn’t want Antoinette brought to trial. Of course he rationalizes it, says that she’s our last bargaining counter, that her relatives in Europe are more likely to listen to peace terms if she’s still alive.”
“Her relatives don’t give a damn about her. If she doesn’t go on trial the existence of the Tribunal is a farce. She has given our military plans to the Austrians, she’s a traitor.”
“Then he says, what’s the point of hounding down Brissot’s people, now they’re out of the Convention—though you did say that yourself.”
“Only strictly in private, Camille. Remember, it was just a personal view, it was not a recommendation to the nation.”
“My public views and my private views are the same. They will go on trial, if I have my way.”
“And if Dr. Marat has his.” Robespierre turned a few papers over. “Danton’s peace initiatives don’t seem to be conspicuously successful, do they?”
“No. He’s wasted four million, I should say, in Russia and Spain. Soon it will be peace at any price. That’s one whole aspect of him. People don’t know. Peace and quiet.”
“Does he still see this Englishman, Mr. Miles?”
“Why?”
“I just wondered.”
“Did you now! I think they have dinner together from time to time.”
Robespierre picked up his little volume of Rousseau. He began to work through it absentmindedly, just flicking the pages with his thumb. “Tell me, Camille—be entirely honest with me—do you think Georges-Jacques has behaved quite scrupulously with regard to army contracts?”
“How am I to answer that? You know how he finances himself.”
“Cut-ins, kickbacks—yes, we have to take him with all his faults and failings, don’t we, though I can hardly imagine what Saint-Just would say if he heard me voice that sentiment. I suppose he’d say I was conniving at corruption, which is really just another way of being corrupt oneself … . Tell me, do you think we could save Danton from himself? Scoop up some of the small fry?”
“No.” Camille turned onto his side and looked at Robespierre, propping his head on his hand. “Small fry lead to bigger fry, whatever they are. Danton’s too valuable to be put into difficult positions.”
“I should hate to see him lose his value. About this marriage settlement—this worries me. Of course, it means only one thing—that at some point in the future he fears he might find himself on trial.”
“You said almost the same thing yourself. That at some point you might, despite yourself, become an obstacle to the Revolution. That you were prepared.”
“Oh,
“I don’t see any prospect of an immediate divorce.”
Robespierre smiled. “Where are they today?”
“At Sevres with Gabrielle’s parents. All the best of friends, terribly cozy. And they are to get a cottage, where they can be absolutely alone together, and none of us are to know where it is.”
“Why did he mention it then?”
“He didn’t. It was Louise who made a point of telling me.” Camille sat up. “I must go. I have a dinner engagement. Not with Mr. Miles.”
“But with?”
“No one you know. I mean to have a very good time. You’ll be able to read all about it in Hebert’s scandal sheet. No doubt he’s inventing the menu this very minute.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
