practice.”
“No, you never do now. You used to go to art exhibitions and concerts in the afternoon, but now you only sit and read and write letters. Who do you write to?”
“Oh, several people. I have a great correspondence with Citizen Freron, our old family friend.”
Louise was on the alert. “Very fond of him, aren’t you?”
Lucile seemed amused. “More so when he’s away.”
“Would you marry him, if Camille died?”
“He’s married already.”
“He’d get a divorce, I expect. Or his wife might die.”
“That would be altogether too much of a coincidence. What is all this about dying?”
“There are hundreds of diseases. You can never tell.”
“I used to think that. When I was first married, and everything frightened me.”
“But you would not stay a widow, would you?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Camille wouldn’t want that, surely?”
“I don’t know why you think he wouldn’t. He is very egotistical.”
“If you died, he’d remarry.”
“Within the week,” Lucile agreed. “If my father died too. In your scheme of things, with people passing away in pairs, that would be quite likely.”
“There must be other men you would like enough to marry.”
“I can’t think of any. Unless Georges.”
That was how she ended conversations, when she thought Louise had probed too far—reminding her with a neat brutality of where they stood. She did not enjoy it; but she knew that other people had less scruple. Louise sat gazing into the ruins of the year, in the shifting gray and blue light, trying out pieces that were too difficult for her. Camille was working. The only sounds in the apartment were the dissonant chords and broken notes.
At four o’clock he came in with a stack of papers. He sat on the floor in front of the fire. Lucile gathered up the papers and began to read. After a while she looked up. “It’s very good,” she said shyly. “I think it’s going to be the best thing you’ve done.”
“Do you want to read it, little Louise?” he asked. “It says nice things about your husband.”
“I like to take an interest in politics, but he doesn’t want me to.”
“Perhaps,” he said, exasperated, “he wouldn’t mind if your interest were an informed one. It’s your silly, vulgar prejudices he doesn’t want to hear.”
“Camille,” Lolotte said softly, “she’s a child. How do you expect her to know things?”
At five o’clock Robespierre came. He said, “How are you, Citizeness Danton?” as if she were a grown-up person. He kissed Lucile on the cheek and patted Camille on the head. The baby was brought; he held him up and said, “How goes it, godson?”
“Don’t ask him,” Camille said. “He makes five-hour speeches, like Necker used to do, and they’re just as incomprehensible.”
“Oh I don’t know.” Robespierre held the little boy against his shoulder. “He doesn’t look like a banker to me. Is he going to be an ornament of the Paris Bar?”
“A poet,” Camille decided. “Live in the country. Generally have a very nice time.”
“Probably,” Robespierre said. “I doubt his boring old godfather will manage to keep him on the straight and narrow.” He handed the child over to his father. He was all business now, sitting in his upright way in a chair by the fire. “When the proofs are ready, tell Desenne to send them straight round to me. I’d read it in manuscript but I detest wrestling with your handwriting.”
“You must correct the proofs then, or it will all take too long. Don’t mess about with my punctuation.”
“Ah, Camille d’Eglantine,” Robespierre said mockingly. “No one is going to be interested in the punctuation, only in the content.”
“It is easy to see why you will never win a literary prize.”
“I thought you were heart and soul in this new paper, I thought you felt passionately?”
“I do feel passionately, and about punctuation too.”
“When will the second issue be out?”
“It will be every five days, I hope—December 5, 10,
Robespierre hesitated for a moment. “But show me everything, won’t you? Because I don’t want you attributing to me things I haven’t said, and foisting on me opinions I don’t hold.”
“Would I do that?”
“You would, and you do. Look at your baby, turning his eyes on you. He knows your true character. What are you going to call it?”
