"You have spoken wisely, Geneviève," said Morand. "Suspicion is at present very rife; the best patriots even are now suspected. Renounce this project, which, as you say, is after all a mere caprice of curiosity."
"They will say that you are envious, Morand, and that not having yourself seen either king or queen, you do not wish others to do so. Come, to end all discussion, join the party."
"I! good faith! No."
"It is then no longer the Citizen Dixmer who wishes to visit the Temple; it is I who entreat both her and you to come there, to divert a poor prisoner. For the great door once closed upon me, I remain for twenty-four hours as much a prisoner as the king would be, or a prince of the blood." And pressing between his own feet the foot of Geneviève, "Come then," said he, "I entreat you!"
"What do you say, Morand," said Geneviève, "will you come with me?"
"It will be losing a day," said Morand, "and will retard by just so long the time when I expect to retire from business."
"Then I shall not go," said Geneviève.
"But why?" demanded Morand.
"Because I cannot depend upon my husband to escort me; and if you will not accompany me—you, a respectable man, thirty-eight years of age—I have not the hardihood to encounter alone all the chasseurs, artillery-men, and grenadiers, requesting to speak to one of the municipals only three or four years older than myself."