He had the satisfaction of hearing a minute quaver in Hebert’s voice. “And when did you arrive back?”
“Two hours ago.”
“And the family? All well?”
“Hebert, you really are a most unpleasant person,” Danton said, settling himself opposite in the well- upholstered seat, “so it’s no use pretending otherwise.”
“Yes, I see.” Hebert gave a sort of nervous giggle. “Danton, you may have heard about certain speeches I have made.”
“Attacking my friends.”
“Don’t put it like that,” Hebert said reproachfully. “After all, if they’ve nothing to be ashamed of—I’m just offering them a chance to show what good patriots they are.”
“They have already shown it.”
“But surely, none of us should be afraid to have our conduct held up to scrutiny? The point is, Danton, that I shouldn’t like you to imagine that I was criticizing you, yourself.”
“I don’t think you would dare.”
“As a matter of fact, I thought that a tactical alliance between us—”
“I could as confidently form a tactical alliance with a sponge.”
“Well, think about it,” Hebert said, without rancor. “By the way, Camille’s in a bad state, isn’t he? Fainting like that.”
“I’ll tell him of your concern.”
“Chose the most inopportune moment. People are saying—quite understandably I suppose—that he’s regretting his part in bringing Brissot down. Soft-hearted, dear Marat used to say. Though it seems fearfully inconsistent with his past conduct. ’89. The lynchings. Mm. Here we are. Now then—how shall I put it? Citizen Robespierre’s a slippery fish this month. Hard to handle. Take care.”
“Thank you, Hebert, for transporting me.”
Danton swung down from the carriage. Hebert’s white face appeared beside him. “Persuade Camille to take a holiday,” he said.
“He might,” Danton said, “take the day off if it were your funeral.”
The unctuous smile froze. “Is that a declaration of war?”
Danton shrugged. “As you like,” he said. “Drive on,” he shouted to the coachman. Standing in the street, he wanted to shout obsenities after Pere Duchesne, chase him and drive a first into his face. Hostilities begin here.
“So how’s your little sister liking married life?” Danton asked Eleonore.
Eleonore flushed darkly. “All right I suppose. Philippe Lebas doesn’t amount to so much.”
You poor, spiteful, disappointed cow, he thought. “I can find my own way,” he said.
There was no answer when he knocked. He pushed the door open and walked straight into Robespierre’s belligerent stare. He was sitting at his desk with pen, ink, one small notebook.
“Pretending not to be here, then?”
“Danton.” Robespierre got to his feet. He colored slightly. “I’m sorry, I thought it was Cornelia.”
“Well, what a way to treat your lady friend! Sit down, relax. What were you writing? A love letter to somebody else?”
“No, as a matter of fact I—never mind.” Robespierre flicked the little book shut. He sat down at his desk and joined his hands in an attitude of rather nervous prayer. “I could have done with you a week ago, Danton. Chabot came to see me. I—well, what did you ever think of Chabot?”
Danton noted the past tense. “I think he is a red-faced buffoon with a cap of liberty on his head and very little of a brain beneath it.”
“This marriage of his, you know … the Frei brothers are to be arrested tomorrow. It was the marriage that trapped him.”
“The dowry,” Danton said.
“Just so. The so-called brothers are millionaires. And Chabot, he likes all that—he’s susceptible. Well, how not? He’s kept too many frozen Lents.”
Danton looked closely at Robespierre. He’s softening? Possibly.
“It’s the girl I feel sorry for, the little Jewess.”
“Yes, but then,” Danton said, “they say she’s not the sister of either of them. They say she was bought out of a brothel in Vienna.”
“They’ll say anything, won’t they? I do know one thing—Chabot’s servant has given birth to his child since he left her. And this is the man who spoke so touchingly to the Jacobins last September about the rights of illegitimate children.”
You can never tell what will upset Robespierre most, Danton thought: treason, peculation or sex. “Anyway— Chabot came to see you, you were saying.”
“Yes.” Robespierre shook his head, amused by the human condition. “He had a packet with him which he said contained 100,000 francs.”
“You should have counted it.”
