Charles Lameth was the friend of all the intelligent young men who composed the majority of the Jacobin Club.
Duplay pointed out to me, successively, Laharpe; the poet, Chénier; the painter, David; the tragedian, Talma; Audrien, Ledaine, Larive, Vernet, Chamfort—all men of intellect. Then I returned to the rostrum. Completely abandoned, Robespierre had descended, after throwing upon that gathering of life, hope, and activity, a glance that seemed to presage evil to come.
No one knew that he had ascended the rostrum; all were equally ignorant of his descent. Perhaps I was the only one who noticed the look of malignant hatred with which he regarded that knot of literary and scientific men, who had utterly disregarded—whether wilfully or not—himself and his discourse.
Presently, Duplay took my arm, and led me out of the hall.
“Return in a year,” he said, “and your eyes will be opened. There will be fewer plumes, fewer epaulets, less embroidery, but more men.”
CHAPTER XVI.
PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.
I wished to go to the Rue Grange Batélière, where M. Drouet lived, and where he had appointed a rendezvous at the “Hotel des Postes;” but M. Duplay insisting that I should partake of the hospitality of a bed, as I had already done of the table, I felt that I could not well refuse.
It was arranged that I should share Félicién’s room, in which they made me up a bed. On the morrow, at daybreak, I should be at liberty to seek out M. Drouet, after my hair had been arranged according to the new fashion.
As that was an operation which must be performed sooner or later, on entering the house I seized upon a pair of scissors, handed them to Mademoiselle Cornelie, and asked her to perform on me the same feat that Delilah performed on Samson—viz., to cut off my flowing locks.