him in.”
They sat in silence for a minute or two. The topic of Camille’s mother was exhausted. He didn’t know her, she didn’t know him, and it was that lack of knowledge that made the news of her death so miserable: that feeling of having calculated on a second chance, and missed it. “Gamblers,” she said. “I keep thinking of Herault. He’s been in prison for a fortnight now. But he knew that they were going to arrest him. Why didn’t he run?”
“He is too proud.”
“And Fabre. Is it true that Lacroix will be arrested?”
“They say so. And Philippeaux. You can’t defy the Committee and live.”
“But Camille, you have defied them. You’ve done nothing but attack the Committee for the last five months.”
“Yes, but I have Max. They can’t touch me. They’d like to. But they can’t, without him.”
She knelt before the fire. Shivered. “Tomorrow I must send to the farm for more wood.”
Cour du Commerce: “Deputy Panis is here.” Louise had picked up fear in an instant from the man who stood at the door.
It was a quarter to one, the morning of 12 Germinal. Danton was in his dressing gown. “Forgive me, Citizen. The servants are in bed and we were just going ourselves. Come to the fire—it’s cold out.”
He knelt before the embers. “Leave that,” Panis said. “They are coming to arrest you.”
“What?” He turned. “You’re misinformed. Fabricius Paris was here before you.”
“I don’t know what he told you, but he was not at the meeting of the two Committees. Lindet was. He sent me. There is a warrant out. They mean to deny you a hearing before the Convention. You are never to appear there again. You are to go straight to prison, and from there to the Tribunal.”
Danton was silenced for a moment: the shock made his face a blank. “But Paris heard Saint-Just say he wanted to fight it out with me, before the Convention.”
“So he did. What do you think? They talked him down. They knew the risk and they were not prepared to let him take it. They are not novices—they know you can start a riot in the public galleries. He was furious, Lindet said. He stormed out of the room, and he—” Panis looked away.
“Well, he what?”
Panis put a hand before his mouth. “Threw his hat into the fire.”
“What?” Danton said. The Deputy’s eyes met his own. They began to laugh, with a silent, contained, unsuitable mirth.
“His hat. It blazed up merrily, Lindet said. His notes would have followed his hat, but some benighted so-called patriot wrested them from his hand, as he was about to skim them into the flames. Oh, he did not care to be deprived of his moment of glory, I tell you. Not at all.”
“His hat! Oh, that Camille had been there!” Danton said.
“Yes,” the deputy agreed. “Camille would have been the one to appreciate it most.”
And then Danton remembered himself. No joke, he thought, none at all. “But you are saying they have signed a warrant? Robespierre too?”
“Yes. Lindet says you should take the chance, your last chance. At least get out of your apartment, because they may come here at any time. And I must go now—I must go round the corner, and tell Camille.”
Danton shook his head. “Leave it. Let them sleep, let them find out in the morning. Because this will be a cruel business for Camille. He will have to face Robespierre, and he won’t know what to say.”
Panis stared at him. “My God, you don’t realize, do you? He’ll not be saying anything to Robespierre. He’ll be locked up with you.”
Louise saw his body sag. He folded into a chair, and sat with his hand before his eyes.
Two o’clock. “I came,” Lindet said, “hoping to find that you were no longer here. For God’s sake, Danton, what are you trying to do? Are you bent on helping them destroy you?”
“I can’t believe it,” Danton said. He stared into the dying fire. “That he would have Camille arrested—and just this afternoon I saw them deep in conversation, he was friendly, smiling—oh, the consummate hypocrite!”
Louise had dressed hurriedly. She sat apart from them, hiding her face in her hands. She had seen his face, seen the will and power drain out of him. Tears seeped between her fingers. But at the back of her mind, an insistent little message hammered out its rhythm: you will be free, you will be free.
“I thought they would let me go before the Convention. Lindet, did no one remind them that the Convention has to agree to our arrest, that it has to lift our immunity?”
“Of course. Robespierre reminded them. Billaud told him that they would get the consent when you were safely under lock and key. They were very frightened men, Danton. They bolted the doors, and still they acted as if they expected you to burst through them at any minute.”
“But Lindet, what did he say? About Camille?”
“I felt sorry for him,” Lindet said abruptly. “They drove him into the ground. They gave him a straight choice. And the poor devil, he thinks he has to stay alive for the Republic. Much good his life will be to him, after this.”
“Marat was indicted before the Tribunal,” Danton said. “The Gironde arrested him and put him on trial, and the business blew up in their hands. The Tribunal acquitted. The people carried him through the streets in triumph. He came back stronger than ever.”
“Yes,” Lindet said. But, he thought, in those days, the Tribunal guarded its independence. Marat had a trial; do you think it will be a trial, what you’ll get?”
But he did not speak. He watched Danton gather himself; saw him take heart. “They can’t gag me, can they?” he said. “They can arrest me, but they have to let me speak. All right—I’m ready to take them on.” Lindet stood up.
